


Bars of Dramatic Iron

by Klei



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Adventure, Dark Humor, Incest, M/M, Oral Sex, Prison, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-07 22:59:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 39,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15918006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klei/pseuds/Klei
Summary: When Morty wakes up on an intergalactic prison planet remembering nothing of his life but his name, his only clue as to how he got there is in a note from his past self instructing him to find and escape with the inmate known as Rick Sanchez.  On this world where memories are erased to break up gangs and foster rehabilitation, neither of them remember the other.  As the duo work on their escape plan, feelings begin to blossom, and a passionate romance begins.  If they can just get off-planet, they'll finally be able to recall exactly who they were.





	1. (Not So) Genre Savvy

**Author's Note:**

> The art for this piece was drawn by none other than Ghosty, a ridiculously talented artist whose [SFW Tumblr](https://ghostygoo.tumblr.com/) and [NSFW Tumblr](https://ghostygoo-girl-nsfw.tumblr.com/) are really worth checking out! Be sure to reblog their art if you like it!

The first thing Morty noticed was a peculiar sensation in his head. It felt like a bee buzzing around inside his skull, filling his mind with television static.

Where was he? And _who_ was he? He stared down at his wrists, which were heavy and moist with sweat. A pair of sturdy metal handcuffs had been fastened to each one, binding them securely to the back of the chair in front of him. A harness much like the ones on roller coasters and other such rides had been placed over his shoulders, but a quick look around made it readily apparent that this was no theme park. It was more like some kind of windowless bus with even more uncomfortable seats than was typical of public transportation.

To his left was the center aisle dividing the rows of seats in half. To his right were two peculiar-looking strangers. One of them was fuzzy and red with three pairs of arms. The other was green and leathery with saber teeth that had been carved into all manner of intricate designs. Each of them were wearing a bright orange jumpsuit with black symbols on the front that Morty was fairly certain were numbers, albeit ones from a writing system he was unfamiliar with.

He looked down at his own attire. Sure enough, he too was clad in orange, as was almost every other creature on the bus except the driver and a handful of scattered creatures in blue.

Morty gasped, his voice shattering the dead silence that had settled over the vehicle.

"Wait, is-is-is this some kind of prison bus?"

All at once, the prisoners erupted into a furor. Morty watched in awe as people of all species began yanking at their chains in a confused panic. Had they also forgotten how they had gotten here? He turned his attention to the guards, who rolled their eyes and smirked knowingly. Whatever was going on, it was clearly all according to somebody's plan. Morty frowned as he saw one of them whisper something to the bus driver, who hit a button on the dashboard.

His whole body seized as an electrical current was run through his handcuffs, and an involuntary cry of alarm squeezed its way past his lips. It was over almost as quickly as it began, but the aftermath of the shock left his whole body tingling unpleasantly.

"Quiet, inmates!" barked one of the creatures in blue. She was a terrifying creature, whatever she was; her tall, skinny body looked a little like the love child of a severely anorexic goblin and a porcupine with bat wings. "Welcome to the Zorloft Correctional Facility. The ship will be landing to drop you off on your home momentarily. In the meantime, I expect that you all believe you're entitled to some kind of an explanation."

"Yeah, actually," said the six-armed prisoner sitting next to Morty.

Morty shuddered as the guard strolled up to loom over them like a rolled-up newspaper hovering over a fly. As the one seated furthest inside, he had the poor fortune of being within spitting distance of her many spines, prompting him to hold his breath and press his back to the sofa for fear that she might deign to lean over him and strike the idiot who'd spoken up before. He couldn't remember where he'd learned it, but he knew for a fact that there was a venom inside her quills strong enough make even the tiniest scratch feel like someone was driving nails into the wound.

"Do you, now?" said the guard, licking her lips with six long, coarse-looking tongues.

The six-armed inmate swallowed.

"You know, I'm starting to have second thoughts," said the inmate, shrinking back in his seat as much as he was able.

"Oh, don't worry," said the guard. "I'm sure someone on the ground will explain. Driver!" she called, turning around to give a thumbs-down signal to the driver. "Drop him."

"Drop- Wait," said the inmate, confused. "What does that meAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Morty watched in stunned silence as the floor opened up beneath the inmate's seat, sending him plummeting down through what appeared to be a layer of clouds below. The sound of his terrified shrieks rapidly died out in the distance, then vanished entirely as the floor closed back up, leaving a gap between Morty and the saber-toothed inmate sitting by the window.

"Does anyone else feel entitled to anything?" said the guard. All present shook their heads. "Hm, you lot learn fast. Excellent. You wouldn't want to do something stupid and make a powerful enemy on your first day here."

Morty breathed a sigh of relief as she returned to the front of the bus. He felt like he ought to be horrified by what he'd just witnessed, but at the same time, he was strangely numb to it, like some kind of an empathetic callus had been built up in his mind.

He clutched his head as an unbearable buzzing overtook all his senses. It was like something had clamped down on his brain and wouldn't be satisfied until it was reduced to a pile of mush leaking out of his ears. Through the pain, however, an unrecognizably garbled voice came through:

_"DoN't ThInK aBoUt It!"_

Morty was not accustomed to taking the advice of random voices in his head (or, well, he didn't think he was, anyway; it wasn't like he could remember anything), but something about it struck him as trustworthy, and he did his best to focus his thoughts elsewhere. Almost immediately, the buzzing stopped. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"As I was saying," continued the guard. Morty did his best to appear attentive, not wanting to meet the same fate as that other poor bastard. "Welcome to Zorloft, a prison planet. Don't worry if you can't remember why or how you got here, because you're not supposed to. Zorloft's entire atmosphere is encased in a field that blocks off all memories of your life on the outside. Nobody here knows who they are or what they did. If you have friends or enemies on the inside, they'll be complete strangers to you now. Everyone starts fresh in Zorloft. Here, we tear convicts down and build them back up into model citizens. Only once you've done your time and leave this planet's atmosphere will your memories return, minus those pesky criminal proclivities."

For a moment, Morty opened his mouth to protest, only to quickly close it again. He was in prison, but he wasn't even allowed to know why? The whole thing sounded downright inhumane. But then, none of these people were human, were they? He took another look around. Nope. He was definitely the only one. Fortunately, there were so many different kinds of aliens onboard that he didn't have to worry too much about standing out. He'd seen enough prison shows on television to recognize that the best thing he could possibly do was keep his head down.

At least, he was pretty sure he had. He could remember the details of each show and what had happened in them, but he couldn't remember when or where he'd watched them. In fact, he couldn't remember where he'd learned any of the things he knew.

The ship landed as smoothly as an elevator stopping at the bottom floor. Row by row, guards unlocked the restraints keeping them bound to the seats and shoved them into the line filing off of the bus. A few inmates dared to attempt idle chatter only to find themselves on the zappy end of a stun baton. Morty clamped his teeth down on his lower lip. Best to keep his mouth shut, then.

He winced as a guard unlocked his cuffs and harness, then yanked him out of his seat, all but throwing him into the center aisle to follow the other prisoners out of the ship. The tightness of the belt had caused his legs to fall asleep, and he very nearly tumbled down the steps on the way out.

Morty looked up, but he couldn't see the sky. They appeared to be in some kind of hangar. He followed the line until it stopped at a full body scanner up ahead, where everyone appeared to be getting searched one by one. That was fine, right? It wasn't like he had any cause to be nervous about a search. He wasn't hiding any contraband.

…Or was he? Morty swallowed. After all, it wasn't like he could remember.

As he reached the scanner, a bored-looking guard rattled off instructions between sips of what Morty could only assume was some kind of alien coffee.

"Step inside. Legs apart. Arms over your head," said the guard.

Morty posed as he'd been ordered to, and a scanner began to circle his body.

_Beep-beep-beep-beep!_

Sweat poured from his brow as the device stopped at his right forearm, blinking red all the while.

"Step off to the side," ordered the guard with the coffee.

Another corrections officer pulled Morty out of the scanner by the arm that had set off the device to begin feeling him up with their many, many tentacles. Morty grimaced as they wrapped around all four of his limbs to spread them apart like something out of a hentai, particularly as they brushed over his crotch and ass.

"Clear," said the tentacle guard in a wobbly voice.

Morty breathed a sigh of relief as he was released and pushed back into line.

The next checkpoint was a door. Another person was allowed inside every two minutes or so. When Morty's turn came to be ushered inside, he was greeted with a grunt by a six-eyed alien with six-rimmed glasses. On one side of the room was a wall of horizontal lines labelled with various heights. On the other side was a camera.

"Face the camera," said the alien.

A numbered plate was pushed into his hands for him to hold while they took his mugshot. By the time Morty decided what face to make, the camera made a shutter noise, and the image that popped up on the screen was one of him looking completely lost and bewildered. Great.

"Now face the door," said the alien.

Another picture of him was snapped from the profile view in which he looked more annoyed than anything else. He didn't bother asking them to retake it. For one thing, nobody looked good in a mugshot, so it wasn't like he had anything to prove. For another, he highly doubted that the apathetic-looking lady behind the camera cared enough to do so.

As he was guided out the door, a guard handed him an ID card. Morty blanched as he realized that the terrible front-facing mugshot he'd just taken was the picture they'd printed to it.

'Name: Mortimer Smith,' read the ID. Mortimer? Was that really his name? Yes, that sounded right. 'Age: 18 Earth Rotations.' He was pretty sure that made him an adult back on his home planet, if only just barely.

"This stays attached to your uniform at all times, understand?" said the guard, sticking it to Morty's chest. There was nothing sharp keeping it attached, but it stayed in place with what appeared to be some kind of a magnet woven into the fabric. "The only times you take this off are to change, sleep, and shower. You're in cell 821 of the Maggot block."

Morty's brow furrowed. "Maggot?"

"Gump here will show you your cell assignment," said the guard, gesturing to what appeared to be another inmate. "Go on."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Morty Smith!" said the inmate known as 'Gump.' He towered over Morty, but his body resembled that of a shrimp with its hard pale-orange shell, long pointed nose, many legs, and pitch-black eyes. "My name is Bubba Gump, and I'll be your bunkmate from here on out! Come on, the Maggot Block isn't that far from here."

Morty wasn't quite sure why, but something about the connotations associated with that name had him staying a good few stride-lengths behind at all times.

"It's, uh, nice to meet you, too, I think?" said Morty awkwardly, still trying to come to terms with what was happening. It all seemed too surreal to actually be happening. "God, I can't believe- Am I really in prison?"

"Yeah, it's a lot to process, right?" said Gump, though his voice sounded more cheerful than sympathetic. He motioned for Morty to walk alongside him. "Don't feel bad if you need to cry. I won't tell."

"I-I-I'm fine, really," said Morty. Jesus, had he always had that irritating stammer? He was annoyed just having to listen to himself!

"Mm, no, you're really not," said Gump. "The shock of losing all your memories can cause delayed reactions. Don't be surprised if you randomly burst into tears a week from now." His body rumbled as though the thought excited him. "But if you could wait until you're with me to break down, I'd really appreciate it."

Morty stared down at his feet and considered Gump's words. For as insane as the whole situation was, there was also a strange serenity in the back of his mind. Yes, he was in prison, and no, he didn't know why. He didn't know who he was, what his life had been like up until this point, who his family were (if he even had any), why he was here in the first place… And yet, despite everything, he couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't even close to the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

"Thanks, I guess," said Morty, figuring he ought to do his best to be polite and refrain from making enemies, even if this guy was a total creep.

"No problem!"

Morty took a look at his surroundings. The place was surprisingly clean and open. It was the inhabitants who were terrifying. It was quickly becoming apparent to him as they walked down the hallway that he was a small, squishy sack of meat in a prison full of massive aliens with bulging muscles, thousands of teeth, and acidic saliva dripping from their gaping maws.

Huh. Okay, maybe this was a little worse than he first thought.

"When do they tell me how long I'm here for?" asked Morty.

"Oh, they don't," said Bubba Gump. "Nobody in Zorloft knows their sentence. You could be here anywhere from a year to the rest of your natural life."

"The rest of my- No. No fucking way," said Morty. He wouldn't have done anything that would get him locked up for life, right? Right? He was a good person, wasn't he? So why was he here? "I probably just-"

As he strained to remember his crime, the buzzing sensation returned.

"There's no way I would ever-" began Morty, only to squeeze his eyes shut and cover his ears as though that might grant him refuge from the sounds coming from inside his head.

_"CoUlD yOu SiNg FoR mE aGaIn…? GoOdByE."_

_"YoU lIkE tHaT? YoU wAnT mE tO cUt To tHrEe WeEkS eArLiEr, WhEn YoU wErE aLiVe?"_

_"WhO's StUpId NoW, bItCh?"_

"Hey, are you okay?" asked Gump.

Morty's head jerked upwards as he snapped back to reality.

"Yeah, sorry," said Morty, rubbing his temples. "Just a headache."

"You can lay down once we get back to our cell," Bubba Gump assured him.

"Yeah," said Morty slowly. There was nothing to be gained from dwelling on what crime he may or may not have committed to get here. When one found themselves in an unfamiliar situation, the best thing to do was to gather information, just as he'd learned from- Who had he learned that from, again? "So why do they call it the Maggot block?"

"Don't worry, there aren't any actual maggots," laughed Bubba Gump. "All the cell blocks here have fun names like that. There's Roach Block, Dirt Block, Husk Block, Turd Block…"

"Literally none of the things you just listed are fun," said Morty. "Fundamentally awful, maybe."

"Ooh, a smartass. Just like that other human," mused Bubba Gump. Morty perked up. There was another human here? "Look, kid, it's great to have a sense of humor, but take care not to-"

"-not to piss off the wrong people with it, I know. I-I-I've seen movies like this before. I'm not gonna do something stupid and make a powerful enemy on my first day," said Morty. "So there are other humans here?"

"Well, human. Non-plural," said Gump. "I would stay away from him, though, if I were you. I know everyone's first instinct is to group up with people from the same planet, but that guy's a real piece of work. You really don't want to get on his bad side."

"How so?"

Gump glanced around as though he were afraid of being overheard by the wrong person, then leaned in close to Morty as he answered:

"He's only been here for three months, and he already basically owns the place," whispered Gump. Morty wrinkled his nose. His breath smelled like a polluted harbor. "Prison may bring out the MacGuyver in people, but that guy is on a level all his own. On his first day here, he built a fully functioning, interstellar radio out of parts he fished out of the garbage. We aren't allowed to have radios here, so of course someone stole it. After all, he was just an old man. Nobody thought he would retaliate." Gump shuddered. "One night, the thief went to use his cell toilet. When he tried to flush, though, a giant metal arm grabbed him by the horns and yanked his head into the water until he drowned in his own piss."

"Gross!" said Morty, gagging. "And the guards just let him get away with it?"

"All the camera footage got deleted, so there was no way of proving who did it," said Gump. "Anyway, now he sells all sorts of gadgets for hooch and commissary credits, and he all but runs the entire quadrant."

"Hooch?" said Morty. Shit, there was that buzzing again! "That's alcohol, right?

_"ThIs TiMe, Be LiKe GrAnDpA."_

_"YoU mEaN 'dRuNk?' "_

"Fuck," groaned Morty, clutching his head again. "Is this memory-erasing field thing supposed to hurt?"

"Nah, it's probably just stress," said Gump as they rounded the corner. "Don't worry, we're almost there."

Morty squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth as the pitch of the noise continued to grow to more and more unbearable levels.

_"I HaD tO- I hAd To Do- I hAd To MaKe A bOmB, MoRtY!"_

_"Y-y-YoU lItTlE sOn Of A bItCh! ArE yOu A sImUlAtIoN?"_

_"UgH. YoU gUyS hIt ThE bAsKeTs, I'lL dIsArM tHe DrUnKeNlY iMpRoViSeD nEuTrInO bOmB."_

"Shit!" hissed Morty, his eyes clouded by tears. Blinded, he stumbled forward, arms thoughtlessly extended in an effort to find something to steady himself against.

As he fell forward, his hands met something soft and fabric. Alas, whatever he'd just grabbed clearly hadn't been prepared, because as he fell to the floor, he found himself dragging whoever it was down with him.

_CRASH!_

Morty grimaced as he soaked up the tears in his eyes with his sleeve. It sounded like something had just been smashed against the ground. As he sat back up, Morty began to notice little gears, wires, and other bits of something electronic scattered across the tile.

"Oh geez," he breathed. "Sorry, umm…"

He turned to the person he'd knocked over. Immediately, he could feel his bladder straining to void itself of its contents, for the creature before him was unmistakably human.

 _"Motherfucker!"_ swore the old man, getting to his feet so he could rub his injured rump and assess the damage to whatever he'd been carrying before. "Are you fucking kidding me? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Morty swallowed nervously. Good glue-sniffing God, he'd just done something stupid and made a powerful enemy on his first day, hadn't he?

"I-I-I'm sorry!" was all he could manage to coherently respond with. Morty frantically scrambled to brush all of the pieces into a pile. Already, his hair stood on end as he imagined the horrifying repercussions that this error could have for him. The thought of being yanked face-first into a toilet bowl full of his own urine played on repeat in his head, the image of the drain pipe through yellow water the last thing he would ever see before his lungs gave out and were filled with a foul, bitter liquid. "I'll pick them up! I-"

As he placed his hand over a particularly sharp piece of metal, a boot came stomping down on top of it, driving the sharp edge painfully into his palm. Morty cried out, but knew better than to struggle; trying to pull his hand out in any direction but straight up would just make the damage worse.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, asshole?" demanded the old man.

"I didn't mean it!" said Morty desperately. He winced as the old man pressed his full weight down against his hand. "Please, Rick, I'm sorry!"

At last, Rick lifted his shoe off of Morty's hand. Morty took a shaky breath and lifted it up to assess the damage. Something thin and wiry was still partially embedded in the center of his palm, and he bit down on his tongue as he eased it out with his other hand.

"So you already know my name, huh?" said Rick with his arms crossed over his chest. Wait, did he? When had Gump told him Rick's name? Morty looked up at the shrimp-alien in question, who appeared to have retreated to peek at the scene from behind a corner. "Then you should know how badly you just fucked up! That-that-that's three weeks of work you just cost me!"

Morty scooted backwards in an awkward, hobbled crab walk that left bloody handprints wherever his bleeding palm touched the ground. Rick followed after him on foot until Morty found himself pressed up against a wall. Damn it, why weren't there any officers around? Or, heck, couldn't one of the other inmates step in? At least a dozen people had stopped what they were doing to watch the scene unfold, but not one of them seemed interested in getting too close.

"I'll pay for it!" said Morty, doing his best to preemptively shield himself with his arms. For as old as Rick was, Morty could still just tell somehow that he was tougher than he looked, and he wouldn't stand a chance against him in a fistfight.

_"YoU qUiT sChOoL, bUt YoU'vE sTiLl GoT sOmE lEaRnInG tO dO."_

"Oh yeah?" said Rick, reaching down to pick up a screw that he proceeded to chuck at Morty's head. Morty yelped as the metal struck him right above the eye, but at least the physical pain kept him grounded enough to ease that terrible recurring headache. "With what, fuckwit? You clearly just got here, if the orange is any indication. That means your commissary's empty, and I-I think it's pretty clear to everyone here that you're too stupid for a job that pays more than two credits an hour."

Morty pulled his knees to his chest, where his heart was pounding away in a panic as he strained to come up with the words to keep himself alive. Rick was right; he didn't have any money. What else did people trade in prison? Cigarettes? Alcohol? He didn't have any of those, either!

"I could owe you a favor!" suggested Morty hopefully. Rick's frown deepened. "Okay, a lot of favors! Whatever you want!" The 'just please don't kill me with a toilet' went unspoken.

Rick leered down at him, his lips curling upward to expose his yellow teeth.

"You think a guy like me has any use for someone too stupid to watch where he's going in a hallway?" snorted Rick. "Which block are you in?"

"Uh, Maggot?" said Morty, not entirely sure if he ought to be divulging that information to a person who might want to rig his cell with death traps, but he couldn't do anything without the number, right?

"Lucky me," said Rick. "Same cell block means same mealtimes. Come sit with me at dinner so we can talk payment."

With those words, Rick turned around and walked away, whistling a familiar tune as he disappeared into the crowds. The remnants of the project Morty had accidentally destroyed remained scattered all over the floor.

At long last, Bubba Gump waddled out of his hiding place, extending a claw towards Morty to help him to his feet.

"Wow," said Gump. "You _really_ fucked up."

Morty stared down at the scab forming in his palm.

"Yeah," agreed Morty. "I did, didn't I?"

He took a deep breath.

"I think I need to lay down," said Morty.

Bubba Gump nodded. "Come on, our cell is right over here."

He guided Morty out into a relatively open, multi-floor room with cells along the wall and a handful of glass elevators that stopped at each level's catwalk. Morty squeezed into an elevator behind Gump, who input floor 8, the highest option available. As they shot upwards, Morty found himself taken aback by the dizzying scale of the prison, something he hadn't yet had a chance to truly appreciate from the ground floor hallways.

Bubba Gump gestured to a cell with a magnetically-sealed door that had been left wide open.

"Why are all the cells open?" asked Morty.

"Cells are only closed up at night and for lockdown," said Bubba Gump, motioning for him to enter.

Morty supposed the accommodations could have been worse. It was definitely small for two people, but it was also reasonably clean. The blankets on both bunkbeds had been laundered, and the metal shelf was only a little bit rusty. Even the lone toilet in the corner wasn't as horrifying as Morty had expected, though it did bother him that it was plainly visible through the bars. Uncomfortable situations like this one were why he usually wore a catheter on-

On what, exactly?

"Top bunk is yours," said Bubba Gump. "I don't like having to climb ladders when I'm tired."

"Sure," said Morty. "Where should I put my shoes?"

Gump shrugged and gestured down to his pointed, exoskeletal shrimp feet, which were devoid of footwear.

"On your shelf, I guess. You can have the bottom one, since you're so short."

"Great," said Morty, his annoyance thinly-veiled. "Thanks."

"Oh man, for real, though," said Bubba Gump, plonking himself down on the lower bunk. "I knew Sanchez was a scary guy, but I didn't expect the officers to be warning people about him as they were processed."

"Sanchez?" repeated Morty. The name felt familiar on his tongue.

"Rick Sanchez, the guy you pissed off earlier," said Gump.

Morty shook his head. "They didn't warn us about anyone."

"Really? Then how did you know his name?" asked Bubba Gump.

That was a question Morty found himself unable to answer honestly.

"I-I-I saw nametag," he lied.

"Huh," said Gump. Even with his minimally-emotive shrimp face, Morty could tell he was being intensely scrutinized, and a bubble of anxiety formed in his chest. "Do all humans stutter like that? It's SUPER annoying."

"Maybe?" said Morty. "I can't remember."

"Right, stupid question," said Gump, only to pause. "You, uh, you won't tell Sanchez I said that when you see him again, right?"

"Oh geez," groaned Morty as he was reminded of his 'meeting' with Rick. He pressed his palm to his forehead. "I can't believe I did that."

"Hey, it's not so bad!" said Gump. "He wants to talk, right? That means he doesn't plan on killing you yet!"

"Yeah, or it might- it could mean he wants me to let my guard down so it's easier to kill me!" said Morty. "It's not like Rick is the sort of guy who plays fair."

Bubba Gump snickered. "You talk like you know him."

"Well, I mean, he's another human, right?" said Morty.

"Are you trying to imply that all humans know each other?" asked Bubba Gump. "What are you, some kind of hive mind?"

_"ThIs Is, Uh, UnItY. We SoRtA uSeD tO, uH, dAtE."_

"Fuck these fucking-" moaned Morty, clutching his head once more. "Is there a doctor I can see for these headaches?"

"Sure, but if you're not in any immediate danger, the wait time can be pretty long," said Bubba Gump.

"How long?"

Just as he asked that question, a voice chimed in from the PA system:

 _"Now calling Patient 912,"_ said the voice. _"Please report to the clinic for your scheduled evaluation."_

"YES!" screamed someone out on the catwalk. Morty watched with horror as a spindly fellow covered in painful-looking growths limped slowly past his cell to the elevator. "After two long years of waiting, I'm finally gonna-"

_"Patient 912 has failed to show within the allotted timeframe. Now calling Patient 913. Please report to the clinic for your scheduled evaluation."_

"Aww, shit!" sighed the alien covered in growths as he hobbled back in the direction he'd come from.

"Better luck next time, Frank," said Bubba Gump, waving.

"I, uh, I guess I'll just sleep it off, then," said Morty.

"That's the spirit!" said Gump.

* * *

 

Morty stared down at the food tray in his hands with a mixture of fascination and disgust. He hadn't expected space prison food to be restaurant-quality, but the cuboidal brick of ground-up meat covered in large, still-blinking eyes somehow managed to make even his most pessimistic prediction look gourmet by comparison.

He looked out over the cafeteria, which was about as big as a football field and, like the cell block, multi-level. How in the world was he supposed to find Rick in this mess?

"Hey, you. Human," said a worm-like being, blocking Morty's path. Morty recognized this alien; it was a Pripudlian. "This way!"

"Are you gonna take me to Rick?" said Morty. The last thing he needed was to piss Rick off further by making him think that he'd stood him up, or whatever the appropriate phrasing was for failing to meet a fellow inmate at the designated time.

"You. Follow. Me," was all the Pripudlian answered him with.

With a resigned sigh, Morty followed him to an elevator. The Pripudlian pushed the button for the highest floor, and it began rapidly ascending to the top of the tower. Morty did his best not to look down as they passed floor of tables after floor of tables.

The top floor was surprisingly quiet. Morty followed the Pripudlian over to the table furthest from the elevator, where Rick was seated between some particularly muscular, brutish-looking folk.

"Nice of you to join us," said Rick. "Have a seat."

Morty stepped towards the empty spot at the table across from Rick, only for the Pripudlian to yank his tray from his hands and shove him to the ground.

"On the floor, not the table," said Rick.

"How-how the hell was I supposed to know that?" demanded Morty, only to immediately shut his mouth. Jesus, what had gotten into him? Had he seriously just back-talked the person he was trying to convince not to kill him? "I, uh, I mean…"

"Wow. You really are a dumbass," said Rick, looking amused. "I'm almost embarrassed to be a member of the same species."

"Please, umm, please don't kill me," said Morty nervously as a pair of burly Garblovians rose from the table to take him by either arm. Sweat poured from his brow as they forced him to his knees. Morty looked around the room in search of guards, but there were none to be had on this floor, and none of the inmates at the other tables seemed interested in coming to his aid.

"Put him under the table where the cameras can't see," ordered Rick, taking a sip of something that looked and smelled suspiciously like alcohol.

Morty's eyes widened. Where the cameras couldn't…?

_Shit._

"No!" he said again, struggling more intensely. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Was this really how it all ended? Murdered beneath a prison cafeteria table like some kind of background character getting slaughtered by the bad guy for the sole sake of proving how evil he was? "You want payment, right? I-I-I can't pay you back if I'm dead!"

Rick folded his hands on the table, unmoved by Morty's plea.

For a brief moment, Morty found himself giving in to despair. The situation looked bleak, and there was no out in sight. Perhaps it was best to simply accept death with whatever dignity he could muster.

Morty gritted his teeth.

 _No._ He was _not_ going to die like this!

With a cry like a cornered animal, Morty jumped up off of his feet using the grip of the two Garblovians holding him as support and smash-kicked each one's closest knee at full force.

_SNAP!_

"Glaagh!" they cried out in unison, exploding into slippery goo that coated both Morty and the floor.

Morty turned around and scrambled for the elevator. If he could just get to a floor with a guard, he would be saved. Maybe he could beg them for a spot in solitary! Sure, he would probably go mad from the isolation, but at least he would be safe!

It was no use. The Garblovian goo had made the floor too slippery. He made it only two steps before his foot skidded backwards, leaving him to land flat on his face.

Even as he heard footsteps approaching him from behind, Morty continued to scramble on his hands and knees for the door. He cried out as a foot came down on his back, pinning him to the ground.

"Do you wanna live?" asked Rick, pressing his heel straight between Morty's shoulder blades.

Morty squirmed beneath his boot, clawing at the slimy floor before him in a vain bid for freedom. "Yes!"

"Then you're gonna do exactly what I tell you. Got it?" said Rick. Morty ceased his struggling and, after a moment of thought, nodded. A group of aliens had already moved in front of the elevator to block off his only escape route. Even if it was all a trick, it was his only hope of survival. "When I let you up, you'll crawl under the table, and we're gonna discuss this over dinner like a pair of nice, civilized adults."

Slowly, Rick lifted his foot off of Morty's back, only to slam it back down when Morty made the mistake of trying to get to his feet.

"I said crawl, dipshit."

"Right," said Morty, his cheeks burning red with embarrassment as he crawled back across the floor and slipped beneath the table, which was fortunately free of chewed gum or other such garbage. "Now what?"

"Now we eat," said Rick. He and his goons returned to their seats, leaving Morty enclosed by a circle of various legs blocking off his exit.

"Eat, uh, eat what?" asked Morty nervously. The Pripudlian had taken his tray.

"Oh, that's right, I almost forgot about you," said Rick in a tone of voice that made it clear he hadn't actually forgotten about it at all. "How do you feel about salt?"

Morty wasn't really sure how to answer that question. "It's fine, I guess."

"Oh, that's a relief," said Rick. His cronies laughed. Morty couldn't see Rick's face from under the table, but he could still see his hand reaching down between his legs to unzip his pale brown prison-issued pants. His throat went dry. Wait a second… "See, I was worried you might not like what I got for you."

As Rick pushed down the hem of his underwear and spread his legs, Morty's red face went from a gentle simmer to a full-on bonfire.

_Oh._

Morty swallowed as he stared down the massive erection jutting out of Rick's crotch like a missile aimed straight for his face. In hindsight, he really should have seen this coming. It was bad enough that he'd somehow managed to piss off the head honcho straight off the bat, but now, less than twelve hours into his sentence, he was already sucking someone off. That had to be some kind of record.

"Well?" said Rick expectantly. "Is your tiny little raisin-brain capable of taking the hint, or do you need me to spell it out for you? Suck. My. Dick."

Morty wrinkled his nose. "Just-just give me a second to swallow my dignity."

"That phrasing implies that you had any in the first place," said Rick. He peeked beneath the table and seized Morty by the hair. Morty cried out as his scalp was yanked forward, forcing his cheek against Rick's sizable cock. "Now open wide."

It was a life and death situation, Morty reminded himself. If he could just get through this, he would (hopefully) be in the clear. Morty steeled his nerves and, closing his eyes as though he might be able to convince himself that it were just some kind of giant fleshy lollipop, opened his mouth.

Morty bristled as Rick pushed on the back of his head, guiding his lips to his shaft. He reluctantly closed his lips around its girth, doing his best to remain calm and refrain from gagging as it slid across his tongue.

"That's it," said Rick. "Come on."

It was difficult for Morty to imagine something more humiliating than having a stranger's dick in his mouth while being surrounded by a bunch of other complete strangers. His sole source of comfort (aside from the fact that they hadn't killed him) was that, from his position under the table, they couldn't see just how pathetic he must have looked as he sucked and slurped for his life. Unable to swallow his own building saliva, sparkling strands leaked out of the corners of his mouth as Rick grabbed him by the sides of his head and forced it up and down his cock. Mercifully, he seemed to know better than to shove it in deep enough to induce vomiting, leaving Morty to simply relax his shoulders and allow his face to be used like a fleshlight.

"You fucking suck at this, no pun intended," said Rick. Morty scowled as much as he was able. For a moment, he was tempted to clamp his teeth down and bite the son of a bitch's dick clean off, but that would only guarantee his death. "Mm, yeah, just a little more. Don't you fucking spit or swallow. I wanna see it in your mouth."

Morty shuddered as Rick unloaded a thick stream of salty cum into his mouth. It took everything he had not to hack it up the second Rick pulled his softening cock out of his throat. He winced as Rick leaned back and tilted Morty's head upwards so he could see the sticky white strands webbed across his tongue.

"Huh," mused Rick. "Not bad. I'm not gonna lie, I took you for the kind of person who'd have started crying by now."

Morty couldn't help but shoot Rick an indignant glare before catching himself and attempting to sheepishly retreat back out of sight. He was instead yanked upwards, dragged awkwardly out from under the table and onto Rick's lap so that he was facing him and straddling his legs. The new position was infinitely worse than the old one, and Morty did his best to focus on the wall behind Rick instead of the smirking faces of him and his cronies.

"Relax, it's a compliment," said Rick. Morty shuddered uncomfortably as Rick ground his crotch against his ass. "Now swallow."

Morty swallowed the sperm in his mouth, as well as the humiliated rage that kept threatening to bubble to the surface at the most inopportune times.

"Good boy, uh…" Rick seized Morty's shirt to check his ID tag. "Mortimer? Pfffft. What-what-what kind of a lame-ass name is that?" Everyone at the table laughed. "Are your parents from the eighteen hundreds, or something?"

"At least my nickname isn't Dick," muttered Morty.

A chorus of 'ooooooohs' rippled around the table like something straight out of high school, and Morty instantly regretted his snark.

"You know, some people say there's a fine line between bravery and stupidity," said Rick. Morty let out an undignified squeak as Rick pressed the tip of a fork to his throat. "And you know what? Those people are fucking morons. I'll tell you the difference right now. Bravery is taking a calculated risk because you actually stand to gain something. What you're doing right now? That's stupidity at its finest."

"I-I'm sorry," said Morty shakily. Why couldn't he keep his mouth shut? There was something about Rick that made it so easy to let his guard down. Was it because they were both humans? That was just great; now he was an idiot and a racist. "You're right, my name is terrible!"

Rick cackled and set the fork back down. Morty breathed a sigh of relief.

"That's right," said Rick. "I think I'm just gonna call you 'Morty.' How's that?"

Morty nodded his head vigorously. "That sounds great, uh, sir."

"Pffft, more like 'less awful,'" said Rick, his hands sliding down Morty's back to cup his ass. Morty tensed. "So, Morty, maybe it's about time we actually started talking about why you're here. You owe me a lot of credits for what you broke earlier." Oh yeah. In all his anxiety and terror, he'd nearly forgotten just why he was here to begin with. "Now, normally I'd just let you pay me back plus interest, but unfortunately for you, those items cost more than a pipsqueak like you could ever hope to make over even a life sentence. That means you'll have to pay me back in another way."

Morty bit his lip as Rick squeezed his ass. Fuck. He didn't have to be a genius to see where this was going.

"Wait, so I-I-I'm your prison bitch now?" said Morty, aghast. The man was old enough to be his grandfather! "Aww, geez, come on, Rick! There's gotta be another way!"

"Sure," said Rick. "I could just have you killed. This prison's got doctors on staff who'd pay top dollar for an excuse to harvest your organs."

Morty blanched.

"On second thought, maybe cum doesn't taste that bad, after all."

"Yeah, that's what I thought," said Rick, squeezing Morty's body against his own. "Now listen up, gum-for-brains. You do what I say, when I say, got it? At every meal, you're gonna come up here and sit on the floor next to me like the dog you are. If I send someone to get you, you drop everything you're doing and go with them, no questions asked." Just when Morty thought his cheeks couldn't get any redder, Rick slid a thumb beneath the hem of Morty's pants. "And one more thing; you're mine now. No one gets to touch you but me. If anyone tries, you tell them who you belong to."

Well, there went what little freedom Morty had had left. He sure wished he'd been able to appreciate it for longer than the five minutes or so that it had lasted.

"I- Got it," said Morty, catching himself before he managed to fuck things up even harder.

"Great," said Rick. "Now go take a shower. You smell like Garblovian goo."

"But I didn't even get to eat!" said Morty.

"Not my problem," said Rick.

"And-and I don't know where the showers are!"

"That's fine, 'cause I'm sending Grobnarb and Krushgor with you anyway," said Rick, nodding towards a pair of gruff, gorilla-esque aliens who got to their feet and gestured for Morty to follow.

"What? Why?"

"What makes you think you have the right to an answer?" said Rick, shoving Morty sideways off of his lap so hard that he nearly flipped off the bench and onto the floor. "Do what I say, or the next time you give me head, it's gonna be completely literal."

Morty scrambled to his feet and clutched his neck protectively. "Uh, right."

He shuffled dutifully after the gorilla-like aliens known as Grobnarb and Krushgor. Hungry as Morty was, he was eager to get the hell out of there before he managed to wear down the last of Rick's patience.

"So, like, does Rick pay you guys, or…?" began Morty as they walked down the hall. From the way they were walking, it was almost like he was being taken prisoner within the prison; one of the gorilla aliens was walking in front of him and leading the way while the other remained behind him to make sure he didn't attempt to run away.

"Quiet," was the only response he got, though he couldn't remember if that was Grobnarb or Krushgor.

"It was just a question. Geez," said Morty.

"Grobnarb doesn't like to discuss his wage!" growled the one in front.

"Wait, do you mean the other guy doesn't like talking about it, or are you doing the whole 'muscly guy speaks in third person' thing?" said Morty.

"Krushgor makes two thousand credits an hour," said the other, and Morty still wasn't sure if he was talking about himself or his buddy.

"Two thousand?" said the first one incredulously. Aha, so they were speaking in third person! "Grobnarb makes only eighteen hundred an hour!"

"See, this is why it's important to discuss your wages!" said Morty. "Th-th-the only one who benefits from people keeping that stuff secret is your employer. Now that you know, you can ask for a raise."

"Grobnarb doesn't want to ask for a raise!" said Grobnarb. "Grobnarb doesn't like confrontation!"

"This is why Krushgor makes more than Grobnarb," said Krushgor. "Grobnarb is weak!"

"Grobnarb doesn't want to pressure anyone!"

Morty groaned quietly as the two of them began to argue back and forth. The procession was attracting quite a bit of attention. He dipped his head as though that would somehow quell the curious chatter about the idiot who'd managed to run afoul of Rick Sanchez. At least some had the decency to whisper. It would have been even better if they'd waited until he was out of earshot, of course, but no one had yet called him a moron to his face.

"Ha! Look at that moron!" laughed one of the other inmates as he passed.

Okay, well, at least no one knew that he was Rick's prison bitch.

"How's that Sanchez dick taste, Smith?" cackled another inmate.

"Oh, come on!" said Morty. "How did you guys already find out about that?"

"We didn't," said the inmate. "But we know now! HA!"

Morty's cheeks flushed red upon the awful realization that he'd just fallen for one of the oldest tricks in the book.

"Please tell me we're almost there," said Morty. He didn't even care if the water was ice cold. He just needed a shower.

"Actually, we passed it two minutes ago," said Krushgor. "Krushgor just wanted to see how long it would take Grobnarb to notice."

Grobnarb came to a screeching halt, whipped around, and glared daggers at Krushgor. "Grobnarb knew that! Grobnarb was just testing Krushgor!"

"Yeah, uh, saying that is honestly more cringe-inducing than just admitting you fucked up," said Morty, only to shrink back as Grobnarb balled his hands into fists. "Just for the record, if you're gonna hurt me, I'd be really grateful if you could start by tearing out my vocal cords. They're-they're not really doing me any favors today."

"Grobnarb knows better than to break the boss' property," said Grobnarb. "Unlike some people."

Morty pursed his lips. Ouch. "Okay, yeah, you've got me there."

With his pride partially restored, Grobnarb marched back in the opposite direction while Morty and Krushgor followed behind.

Before long, they reached some kind of line into a room; Morty could only assume it was the line to use the showers. Rather than wait at the back of it, however, Grobnarb began shoving his way to the front. Morty attempted to hang back, not eager to make any more enemies, but Krushgor shoved him forwards. Surprisingly, not one of the inmates complained. In fact, they quickly moved out of the way to let the three of them through.

"Out of the way!" barked Grobnarb. "Sanchez's new pet needs to be bathed."

Morty opened his mouth to object to the terminology, then snapped it shut again, because damn it, he'd already dug himself a deep enough hole. Any further, and he would end up on the opposite side of the planet.

He yelped as Krushgor's hands reached under his armpits from behind to hoist him up into the air like a dog while Grobnarb plucked the shoes from his feet.

"I can do that myself, guys, really!" insisted Morty as he was set back down inside of one of the showers. For a prison, it was surprisingly nice, especially after how disappointing the food had been. Morty marveled at how clean the floors were; he'd expected it to feel gross against his skin, but it was actually kind of nice. It was even textured to prevent slipping. It would be good to have a relaxing shower after all that had transpired. "Hey, this is actually pretty-"

He turned around to see Grobnarb and Krushgor grinning at him. Uh-oh.

Click! Morty jumped back as an opaque door slid down from the ceiling to the floor and trapped him inside of the shower, which was about the size of a closet. He could no longer see or hear anything that was going on outside. He was pretty sure he wasn't claustrophobic, but even so, it was an uncomfortable feeling.

"Uh, guys?" said Morty.

A mechanical arm with a camera attached popped out of the wall to scan the ID attached to Morty's uniform.

_"Prisoner identified: Smith, Mortimer. Species: Human. Now scanning."_

Four more arms reached out of the walls to grab his shirt and yank it up and off of him before seizing him by the wrists and hoisting him off of the ground to take off his pants and underwear. Morty gritted his teeth as it proceeded to take hold of his ankles and pull all four of his limbs apart so his body formed an X-shape.

"Okay, yeah, I-I-I probably should have seen this coming," he said to no one in particular.

The camera ran over his body. Morty blushed heavily and strained to free his hands so he could cover himself, but it was a wasted effort.

_"Contaminants detected. Now cleansing."_

Several hose-like devices popped out of the walls to spray his body down with gooey soap. Morty squeezed his eyes shut as a rake-like hand scrubbed the shampoo into his hair and various stiff sponges popped out to scrub his body like a dirty dish, starting with his face and slowly working their way downwards to other areas.

"Ouch! Fuck, seriously?" he cried as it scrubbed his chest, feeling like sandpaper against his nipples. Just when he thought it couldn't get any worse, the sponges continued to trail downwards towards his groin. "No, no, no- OW, ffffff- Owowowowow!"

_"Now rinsing."_

Hot water blasted him from every conceivable angle at full force. It might have felt nice against his groin if it weren't hitting him like a freaking fire hose. Morty screamed out as a sharp, prickling pain formed in his arm. It felt like something was burning him! Had the force of the water peeled the skin off? He dared not open his eyes to check.

At last, the torrent ended, but the fun wasn't over.

 _"Now drying,"_ said the shower. The force of the air that proceeded to blow against his body left his lips flapping like the jowls of a dog that had stuck its head out of a car window. Well, back when Earth had still had dogs, anyway.

…Why didn't Earth have dogs anymore, again?

_"If We HuRrY, wE cOuLd SeT uP cAmP iN tHe SeWeR tUnNeL oR sOmEtHiNg BeFoRe ThE dOgS cOmPlEtElY tAkE oVeR."_

"Shit!" said Morty, unable to even clutch his head until at last his body was dry, and the mechanical arms dropped him to the ground in a tired heap.

 _"Cleansing completed. Depositing clothes,"_ said the shower, tossing Morty's prison uniform over his head. _"You have two minutes to dress yourself before the door opens. Have a nice day!"_

"Nice day, my ass!" muttered Morty. He punched the wall of the shower, only to immediately regret it when the lack of give hit back just as hard against his knuckles. "Fuuuuck!"

He cradled his injured hand in the other, hoping he hadn't broken it; medical care didn't exactly seem abundant on this planet. It was then that he noticed something off about his arm. It was the one that had felt like it was burning earlier when it had been exposed to the water; it had been covered in tiny, bright red bumps, like extremely noticeable mosquito bites.

"What the-" began Morty, only to notice something else peculiar. The bumps appeared to be organized into patterns. He knew these patterns. What was it called, again? Brine? Brin? Brull? Braille? Yes, this was Braille!

Wait, why did he know Braille? Wasn't that supposed to be for blind people? What had he been outside of prison to have this information in his head? A teacher? Morty quickly stopped that train of thought before the awful buzzing returned, opting instead to look over the bumpy letters that had somehow been left on his skin.

F-I-N-D. Okay. He had to find something.

R-I-C-K. Find… Rick? Not Sanchez, he hoped. Rick was a pretty common name. There were probably hundreds of them in this prison.

S-A-N-C-H-E-Z. Fuck.

A-N-D. The plot thickened.

E-S-C-A-P-E. Oh boy.

B-L-U-E-P-R-I-N-T-S. Blueprints? To the prison?

U-N-D-E-R. Under a brick? A table? Some other secret location?

S-K-I-N. Oh.

Oh, _no._

As he reached the end of the message, Morty touched his arm. It was the same arm that the alien handling security had scrutinized before letting him through. Had someone really stuck blueprints beneath his flesh so he could escape? And with Sanchez? Why him, of all people? He wished there had been more details, but real estate on his spindly limbs was limited, he supposed.

Well, great. Now he had to decide whether to trust a cryptic arm message or not.

The shower door flew open behind him, and Morty froze like a deer in the headlights. Shit, he'd forgotten about the time limit to get dressed!

"Get out of there!" barked the next person in line. "Come on, we're all waiting, here!"

"W-w-w-wait just a second!" said Morty, scrambling to get into his pants and underwear, but one of the gorilla aliens from before grabbed his naked body by the upper arm and dragged him out into the open while they were still around his knees. "Oh geez!"

Several people in line wolf whistled at him as he struggled to dress himself. Morty's cheeks went red. Of all the weird social quirks that could have been cross-cultural across planets, it had to be that?

Fortunately, once his arm had been released, Morty found that he was surprisingly good at dressing rapidly under pressure. He felt like some sort of RPG character with the way he was able to whip on his shirt like his very life depended on it.

"So, uh, thanks for taking me to the shower, and all," said Morty, sidling away from the gorilla aliens with a forced smile of gratitude. "But, you know, I think I'd like to go for a walk on my own, you know, to figure out where everything is."

The one called Krushgor blocked his exit with his burly arms folded over his chest.

"You belong to Sanchez now," said Krushgor. "You don't get to go anywhere without his say-so."

"Oh, come on!" said Morty. "There's nothing to do in there, and it's way too early to sleep! Can't I at least keep walking around with you guys?"

"No."

Morty groaned like a teenager that had just been told that they had to be back before curfew and reluctantly followed the gorillas out of the cell. With any luck, the boredom would make it easy to get to sleep. Or, heck, maybe there would be someone just outside of his cell to talk to.

 _Or,_ proposed a reckless little voice in his head, you could just walk out as soon as the gorillas leave. _Who's gonna know?_

Morty mentally punched that voice in the face, because that was the sort of logic that brought further pain and conflict upon stupid movie protagonists. Sneaking out wasn't an option. He was one of the only two humans in the prison. Even if he didn't get caught right away, word was sure to get back to Rick.

_Find Rick._

The message etched into the flesh of his arm beneath the orange sleeve of his prison jumpsuit echoed through his mind. He'd found Rick, all right, and Morty had to say that he wasn't terribly keen on the idea of escaping prison with him. The last bit was especially troubling; 'Blueprints under skin?' If he showed Rick the message, who was to say he wouldn't end up flayed alive for them?

But then, it wasn't like he could simply ignore it, either. There had to be a reason that it was there. Had he left it himself? Did he know Rick outside of the prison? Those were the obvious explanations, but Morty had been the victim of enough cruel plot twists (the specifics of which he couldn't recall) to know that it was just as possible that someone else had forcibly left whatever it had taken to create that message on his body in order to use a small-time criminal as a human smuggling vessel that could be killed and carved open by the recipient upon reaching its destination.

Morty shuddered. Maybe it would be best to simply ignore it.

"Which cell is yours?" demanded Grobnarb as they reached the Maggot block.

"Uh, 821."

The two gorillas exchanged a pair of looks, then shoved him into the elevator. Morty wheezed as they squeezed in after him, crushing him against the cylindrical glass wall for the duration of its ascent. The pressure of the glass against his chest was so great that he couldn't manage to inhale even the slightest bit until at last the doors opened at the top level's catwalk.

He gasped for air as he was dragged out of the elevator, then pushed into his cell so hard that he collapsed face-first on the floor, where he remained on his hands and knees for a minute or so to catch his breath.

"Okay," said Morty, shifting his weight back to his knees and lifting his head. "I'm-"

His eyes widened. Was this the right cell?

Morty turned his head to view the door. The gorillas had already left, and he dared not go out even far enough to peak at the number printed on the wall above the door, but the view was the same as the one he remembered from when Bubba Gump had showed him the place earlier. Even the alien covered in painful-looking sores was still there, gazing out over the safety rails of the catwalk like he was wondering whether or not he wanted to try jumping over the side and ending his own misery.

Morty didn't have time to bother himself with the medical woes of a complete stranger, however. He had his own concerns, like the flat-panel television that seemed to have materialized on his cell wall, the tablet that someone had placed on top of his bed, or the various random luxuries that now filled the shelf including small puzzle toys like a Rubik's Cube, various snack foods, and a handful of toiletries like deodorant and a toothbrush that he hadn't yet realized that he was lacking.

There was no way Bubba Gump had brought all this back over dinner. This was Rick's handiwork, no doubt about it.

But why? As Morty stood up and took a look around, he couldn't help but wonder if it was some sort of test. Was he allowed to touch any of these things? Were they booby-trapped? Would using them only serve to further increase the debt that he owed so Rick had an excuse to keep him under his thumb forever? It didn't make any sense!

Morty climbed up the ladder into bed and gingerly poked the tip of his ring finger (so chosen because it was the finger he decided he could live without in the event that the device did something to rip it off) to the tablet.

Nothing exploded. With the rest of his body still as far away from it as possible, Morty applied a little more pressure.

Still nothing.

"Fuck it," said Morty, picking up the tablet and pressing one of the buttons on the side. The black screen lit up to reveal a handful of applications that he began to flip through. One was a virtual library full of eBooks, another controlled the television, and the rest included various games. Morty's eyes narrowed suspiciously. What was Rick playing at?

"Oh, _Hell_ yes!"

Morty lifted his head to see his cellmate, Bubba Gump, at the door. For as difficult as it was to read his shrimplike face, his appeared to be rubbing his many hands together with glee.

"Hey, Gump," said Morty, waving his hand over all the random stuff. "Do you know anything about this?"

"I came as soon as I heard!" said Gump, excitedly looking through all of the goods like a child in a toy store. "Man, I'm almost jealous of you now!"

"Heard what?" said Morty, hopelessly confused. "Why is all this stuff here?"

"Well, duh. Sanchez is staking his claim," said Gump, picking up the Rubik's Cube and turning it about like he was trying to understand its purpose.

"Staking- What?" said Morty. "I thought he was pissed at me!"

"Nah, if he was pissed, he'd have killed you. Or, you know, beaten you to a pulp, at least," said Gump, twisting the cube and letting out a fascinated clicking noise. "Man, I thought you were dead for sure! I should have known better, though. You're the only other human in the prison. Of course he'd want to fuck you."

"That seems like a pretty planetary mindset to have."

"Oh, it's not like that," said Gump. "Though, you know, it is kind of nice to be able to have sex with someone you're biologically predisposed to find attractive sometimes. What I'm trying to say is that you're rare, which makes you a novelty, which makes you more desirable. It's a prestige thing. 'I'm the only one who gets to fuck this.' Bragging rights, and all that. There are plenty of folk in here who're one of only a handful of their species, but even then, there are usually at least a few dozen of them to go around. A lot of folk here had never even heard of Earth or humans before Rick."

"Isn't it possible they just forgot because of the memory field?"

"The memory field only wipes the details of your personal life and the people you know; otherwise we'd all be toddling around like a bunch of helpless newborns," said Gump. "You still hang onto things you've learned, like language and math and stuff, but not how you learned them. It can create a pretty weird effect when you try to think about a film that you can remember the entire plot of, but none of the characters or their motivations."

Morty frowned. Come to think of it, he was positive he could remember a movie that Gump reminded him of that somehow went from the Vietnam War to ping pong and boats, but he couldn't remember what it was called, nor could he recall anything about anyone in it.

"Okay, sure," said Morty. "But, I mean, what's all this stuff for, then?"

"Like I said; Sanchez is staking his claim," said Gump.

"By leaving me with all these things?" said Morty. "Aren't I- I thought I was in debt to him, or-or something."

"Well, it makes more sense if you stop thinking about yourself as a person in his debt and more like a thing that belongs to him," said Gump. "Look at yourself like you would a really nice phone, and imagine that all of this stuff is a solid gold phone case."

Morty just gave Gump a stupefied look. "Huh?"

Gump sighed.

"Does your planet have pets?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, well, imagine that you have two people who own flippiwhompers living across from one another," said Gump. "One of them is just a normal dude. He buys his flippiwhomper generic brand pet food, takes it for walks on a regular leash, and lets it sleep on a cheap pillow. The other guy feeds his flippiwhomper expensive steaks, gives it a collar made of solid platinum, and builds an entire second house in his yard specifically for his flippiwhomper to play in. Which person do you think is more powerful?"

At last, it clicked.

"Wait, so I'm like the flippiwhomper?" said Morty. "And this stuff- It's just so Rick can show off to other people."

"Now you've got it!"

Morty frowned. Someone with a properly developed sense of shame might have been greatly disturbed by the notion of being treated like a mere accessory, but…

"So, uh, I can still use the stuff, though, right?"

Gump nodded, and Morty, still hungry from the dinner he'd been denied, immediately jumped down from the top bunk to start rifling through the snacks.

"Oh, thank God," said Morty, ripping open a bag of what appeared to be chips and shoving a handful into his mouth. They tasted a little like styrofoam, but at least they were filling. He climbed back up the ladder to his bunk and switched on the television, which displayed options for movies and shows as opposed to just playing something from a channel. "We won't get in trouble for this stuff, right? Like, it isn't contraband?"

"Nah, it's all available at the commissary," said Gump, plopping himself down on his own bunk. "Ooh, is that the new episode of Gubby Gub Gorbos? Please, please, can we watch it? Nobody else with a television ever plays that show!"

"Fur fing. Lef 'art ah epiffode un," said Morty through a mouthful of chips as he switched on the first episode of the show.

Perhaps life in prison wouldn't be all bad.


	2. It's a Trap!

Morty stood corrected.

It all started early the next morning. After a long night spent binge-watching cheesy alien cartoons and gorging on candy, Morty awoke at an awkward angle beneath a blanket of empty bags and wrappers. He blinked away the sleep in his eyes and slowly rose to a seated position. The door to his cell was still sealed shut for nightly lockdown, which Bubba Gump had informed him didn't end until five o'clock in the morning.

Morty checked the clock on his tablet. Was it really that early? When had he fallen asleep? Fortunately, the television appeared to have shut off automatically for the night, so he could rest assured that the two of them hadn't kept anyone in the adjoining cells awake with the noise.

4:59. Huh. Convenient.

_Beeeeeeeep!_

Morty gritted his teeth as the clock switched over to five and a shrill beeping noise echoed through the Maggot block like nails against a chalkboard.

 _"ROLL CALL!"_ said a voice over the loudspeaker. "Everyone, out in front of your cells!"

"Morning already?" yawned Bubba Gump.

Morty brushed the wrappers off of his body and rolled out of bed. Still half-asleep, he fully expected to land on a nice, solid floor. His expectations weren't entirely off; the floor just happened to be several feet lower than expected. He cried out as he landed on the side of his foot, jamming it painfully inwards and leaving him to collapse on the ground in a crumpled heap.

"Fuuuuuck!" he hissed, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes as he clutched his injured ankle and rocked back and forth like that would somehow alleviate his pain.

"Wow," said Bubba Gump, watching him with delighted fascination. "You're like a walking disaster. I love it."

"You-you-you know what? Fuck you!" growled Morty. "Help me up!"

"And touch Sanchez's property?" said Gump. "Nuh-uh. No way."

Morty's eyes narrowed. "If you don't, I won't let you eat any more of my snacks."

"You really don't appreciate just how little that is next to the risk that you're asking me to take," said Gump, turning around to go stand outside their cell. "Sorry!"

Morty took a deep, frustrated breath and slowly, slowly managed to lift himself up onto his good foot. He could only hope that it was just a minor sprain. With the wait times on medical care being what they were, he was positively fucked if it was broken.

He managed to hop on one foot to the front of the cell just in time for a wheeled robot to zip by and scan his face.

 _"Morty Smith accounted for,"_ said the robot before moving on to the next person. It worked quickly; within about a minute, it had cleared the entire level. Morty guessed that there were probably many more of them working on other levels and blocks, because it wasn't long after the one on theirs finished that a voice on the loudspeaker spoke up again.

_"All prisoners have been accounted for. You may now commence daytime activities."_

"Well, I'm gonna go get some breakfast," said Bubba Gump, waving goodbye to Morty. "See you!"

"You're just gonna leave me here?" said Morty. "I-I can barely walk!"

"Not my problem!"

Morty scowled. To think that he'd actually let that asshole eat his candy.

In his current state, he wasn't even sure he would be able to make it to the elevator, let alone the mess hall, so Morty hopped back into his cell in search of something that could conceivably be used as a cane. For all of the random crap Rick had gotten him, none of it proved suitable for the task at hand, and his single good leg was quickly getting tired from supporting all of his weight.

"Did you seriously think you could get away from me by hiding in your cell?"

Morty's blood seemed to turn to liquid nitrogen in his veins.

_Rick._

"I, uh," began Morty, turning his head to see Rick standing at the door to his cell with his hands folded over his chest. Wait, why was he nervous? He hadn't done anything wrong. "I kinda-sorta fell off the top bunk."

He slowly set himself down on the floor and rolled up his pant leg to display the damage. The area around his ankle had rapidly swollen, and the slightest touch of his fingers to the area had him hissing with pain and yanking them back.

Rick whistled.

"Wow," said Rick. "How the fuck have you managed to live this long without drowning in the bathtub or-or-or falling down the stairs and breaking your neck?"

Morty clamped his teeth down on his tongue. He didn't trust himself not to say something equally snarky back, which, in a way, only served to prove Rick's point.

Rick took a few strides forward and knelt down in front of him, inspecting the damage with an appraising eye.

"How's this feel?" said Rick, prodding Morty's foot.

"OWW! Come on!" said Morty, scooting away.

"Uhg, yeah, you definitely aren't gonna be able to walk on that without some kind of splint," sighed Rick, pressing his fingers to his temples. "Alright, let's get you to the medical wing."

"Wait, what are you-" began Morty, only to freeze as Rick reached around his waist and lifted him up into his arms like he was carrying a toddler. For as much of a dick as Rick was, Morty had to give credit where credit was due; he was far stronger than he looked. "Woah! Hey!"

"Quit squirming," said Rick as he made his way to the elevator. Morty's cheeks reddened as, once again, the eyes of every inmate who hadn't already made their way to the mess hall followed him with mild intrigue. "Or I'll drop you flat on your ass and make you crawl there."

"What's the point?" said Morty. "Aren't the wait times super long?"

"Shut up, Morty."

_"ShUt Up, MoRtY!"_

Morty squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead to Rick's shoulder. He'd sort of hoped a good night's sleep would resolve that little issue.

"What happened to all the others?" asked Morty. "Like, didn't you have a bunch of bodyguards or something?"

Rick scowled. "Do I look like some kind of helpless old man who can't cross the street without an escort of Boy Scouts? I pay people to do shit for me because it's convenient, not because I need their protection."

"I-I didn't mean it like that! I just-" began Morty, who was on the verge of requesting a needle and thread to stitch his own mouth shut. It seemed he couldn't even ask a question without invoking somebody's ire. "Never mind, forget it."

The trip to the medical wing wasn't as long as Morty expected, especially for a prison that spanned the entire planet. The most likely explanation he could think of was that there were multiple such wings throughout Zorloft, but he didn't dare open his mouth to ask Rick, lest he end up saying yet another stupid thing. The line outside was incredibly long and filled with beings of all kinds covered in ailments that Morty could hardly look at without cringing. Some had limbs that had been broken and twisted into the wrong positions. Others had gaping wounds that oozed bodily fluids.

Much to Morty's surprise and discomfort, Rick blew past all of them. A few of them shot Morty irritated looks, but not one dared to voice a complaint.

"Rick, I think some of those people need medical attention more than I do," said Morty.

"Tough titties. I'm not waiting in line for two hours," said Rick.

Like the rest of the prison, the waiting room was completely spotless. Any blood that dripped from the unseen inmates to the floor was quickly sucked up by small cleaning drones patrolling for spills. At the front of the line, a lizard creature covered in what appeared to be eggs bursting out of his scales addressed a uniformed woman behind a desk shielded by bulletproof glass:

"Yeah, I'm here for the appointment about my-" he began, only to be quite literally kicked out of the way by Rick.

"I need to see Doctor Yickygrub," said Rick.

"I'll let him know you're here," said the uniformed woman. Rather than stand, she merely swiveled about in her chair and shouted behind her at the top of her lungs. "HEY! YICKYGRUB! RICK'S HERE!"

"Send him in!" said a gravelly voice.

"You heard him," said the uniformed woman.

As Rick headed off to the back, Morty looked over his shoulder to check on the egg-covered alien attempting to reclaim his spot at the front of the line.

"As I was saying-" said the alien, only for the inmate behind him to shove him back out of the way.

"No cutting!"

"But I-"

"Back of the line!"

"Geez," said Morty, turning his attention back to Rick. "Is everyone here a jerk?"

Rick just shot him a look.

"I mean, uh, except you?" said Morty hopefully.

"It's a prison, stupid," said Rick. "Jesus, if we weren't the same species, I'd ask if you were from some weird-ass planet that believes every stupid thing you shit out of your mouth brings you closer to God."

"Well, it-it-it kind of worked, didn't it?" mused Morty.

Rick just glowered at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's a joke," said Morty, a bit surprised Rick hadn't gotten it. "You know, 'cause you're always saying stuff like…"

_"If GoD eXiStS, iT's FuCkInG mE!"_

Morty groaned. "Sorry, I-I-I think I got you mixed up with someone else."

"It's your second day here! How many other people could you possibly know?" demanded Rick, only to shake his head and turn his attention to a giant larvae-like creature in a white lab coat. "Yickygrub! I need to borrow some shit."

The larvae-like creature turned around slowly. Looking into its creepy black eyes was like gazing into a void, so Morty chose to stare at Rick's chest, instead.

"Ten thousand credits, and it's all yours," said Doctor Yickygrub.

"Five thousand."

"Eight!

"Seven."

"Deal," said Doctor Yickygrub, opening the door beside him to reveal something that looked a little like a general practitioner's office, but with far more advanced-looking equipment. "Let me know if there's anything else I can get you."

"Will do," said Rick.

He set Morty down on the table. The white paper covering it crinkled beneath him with every little movement he made.

"Hey!" he said as Rick began yanking off his bright orange pants. "Don't I get a-a gown, or something?"

"Aww, does Princess Mortimer have to preserve her modesty?" said Rick, tossing them aside to reveal the swollen ankle beneath. It was covered in unpleasant-looking purple splotches. He opened up a nearby cabinet and retrieved some lead garments that he threw over Morty's chest and groin. "Hold still, I'm gonna take an x-ray."

"Oh, okay," said Morty, trying to get comfortable while Rick adjusted a massive camera-like device hooked up to an arm attached to the wall and aimed it at Morty's injured leg.

"Okay? That's it?" said Rick. "You're just gonna trust that I know how to operate this thing?"

"What? Why would I-" began Morty, only to realize that, yes, it actually was a little strange that he hadn't even thought to question whether Rick was, in fact, qualified to use any of this equipment. "I mean, uh, well, you're a genius, right?"

"Well, you're not wrong," said Rick, eyeing him suspiciously. "But what made you think I knew anything about biology?"

Morty opened his mouth to respond only to realize that he'd never actually seen or heard of Rick doing anything other than make devices, and even that he hadn't really seen in action beyond word of mouth.

"You seemed confident?" was the only thing he could think to say, and even then, it seemed incomplete.

"Confident?" said Rick. "You know that a decent percentage of the people here have some kind of untreated mental illness, right? I-I-I could be some delusional nutcase who thinks rubbing an open wound with a slab of raw chicken will cure cancer."

Morty grimaced. "But you're not, right?"

"Guess you'll just have to find out," said Rick, aiming the camera of the machine at Morty's leg and hitting a switch by the nearby screen. An image of Morty's intact-looking ankle popped up on the screen. "Looks like it's just a sprain. One sec."

He punched a few of the buttons on the keyboard of the device displaying Morty's x-ray. On the nearby pedestal, a 3D printer of some kind began spewing out some silvery gunk that solidified into what appeared to be a sort of hollowed-out leg.

"Wait, is that some kind of a prosthetic?" said Morty, yanking his injured leg away like he was pulling his hand off of a hot stove. Holy shit, what if Rick _was_ just some delusional wacko who knew absolutely nothing about biology? "Are-are-are you gonna amputate my leg?"

"If I was gonna amputate your leg over a sprain, why would I bother with the x-ray machine?" said Rick, lifting the hollowed out leg off of the pedestal. "It's a splint, dumbass. Hold still."

Morty's cheeks went pink with embarrassment as Rick knelt down to slide the splint onto his leg like Cinderella's prince sliding the glass slipper onto her foot. It wasn't until Rick stood back up and roughly slapped him on the back that he finally snapped back to reality and remembered that Rick was not only an old man, but a remorseless killer who'd forced Morty to suck him off under a table.

"Try standing on it," said Rick.

Morty hesitated. Every rational fiber of his brain told him that he had absolutely no reason to trust this man. Even if Rick did know as much about biology as he did engineering, what reason would he have to be so helpful? Was it really all about keeping up appearances?

"Why are you being so nice to me?" asked Morty at last. "Yesterday, you were stomping on my hand 'cause I bumped into you, but now all of a sudden you're acting like you're my sugar daddy, or something!"

"If you don't want my help, you're more than welcome to give me that splint back and limp your way back to bed," said Rick.

Morty chewed his lip. It was a long crawl back to his cell. He gingerly set his feet down on the floor. Amazingly, the splint was designed in such a way that it took the vast majority of his body weight off of his foot and dispersed pressure to the rest of his leg, allowing him to walk with little more than a slight limp.

"Oh, wow, Rick!" said Morty, awed. Perhaps Rick's motives were hazy, but damn if it wasn't working out in Morty's favor. "Thank you!"

"It's about time you showed a little gratitude," said Rick, crossing his arms over his chest. "I mean, Jesus, I only gave you a flat-panel television to keep in your cell so you wouldn't have to fight the masses in the rec room to watch something in a language you understand. No big deal, right?"

Morty cringed at his own forgetfulness. Oh yeah, he _had_ neglected to voice his gratitude for that, hadn't he?

"S-sorry," said Morty. "I'm grateful, really! I'm just- It's a lot to take in."

As Rick's hand approached his head, Morty flinched and squeezed his eyes shut, expecting to be struck. Instead, Rick ruffled his hair.

"I'm not gonna lie to you, Morty, I can't even begin to imagine how a person like you ended up in a place like this," said Rick. Before Morty could take comfort in the implication that he was too pure and innocent for prison, however, Rick went on to add: "Only four kinds of people get thrown in Zorloft; people who are super dangerous, people who are high profile, people who are flight risks, and people who are super dangerous high profile flight risks."

"Which one are you?" said Morty.

"Number four," said Rick, winking. "Duh."

"Then what am I?"

"That's what I'd like to know," said Rick. "Based on your track record so far, my best guess is that you pissed off somebody important and got thrown in here out of spite."

"What makes you say-" began Morty. "Ooooh. Right."

"I don't even want to imagine how dumb your ancestors had to be to breed such concentrated stupid," said Rick. "You're a real fucking miracle of evolution, Morty. Like pandas."

"But everyone loves pandas!" said Morty.

"Yeah, and do you know why?" said Rick, closing the distance between them. Morty swallowed as Rick's hand slid down his bright orange pants to cup his ass. "It's because, for as dumb and useless as they are, pandas are cute as shit, Morty." Morty's cheeks went redder than a glass of wine as Rick ground his crotch against his stomach, his stiff member easy to feel through the stretchy fabric of his prison uniform. "Enough to convince people stronger and smarter than they are to keep them around even when they fuck up."

Well, it was good to know that Rick saw some value in him, anyway. Morty swallowed as Rick rubbed his knee against his crotch. Without his memories, it was impossible to know how sexually experienced he was outside of prison, but something told him the answer was 'not very.' The slightest brush against his groin through the fabric was enough to have him breathing like he'd just climbed ten flights of stairs.

Something about this felt incredibly wrong, but what? Was it because they were both men? No, that couldn't have been it. Even if Morty couldn't remember much about his own sexuality, he was pretty sure he wouldn't have been upset or disappointed to realize he was gay. Was it because Rick was so old, then? Morty ran his eyes over his wrinkled face. Despite the saggy skin and yellow teeth, he wasn't ugly. In fact, he was actually pretty easy on the eyes for a person at least three times Morty's age. His cold, weathered eyes still managed to radiate defiance like he was daring the world itself to take him on; it was the gaze of a man who'd been to Hell and back and loved every minute of it.

Uhg, what was he thinking? Rick was a hardened criminal. A murderer. He'd stomped Morty's hand down on sharp bits of metal and forced him to perform oral sex against his will. It didn't matter if he was a silver fox or a shriveled up mass of elbow skin. Morty wanted no part in this.

"If your leg's fine, let's blow this joint," said Rick, finally taking a step back. Morty released the breath he'd been fully aware that he was holding, but the relief was short-lived. If it hadn't been clear before that Rick expected repayment for his so-called kindness, it certainly was now. The blowjob had only been the beginning; if he remained in prison, it wouldn't be long before he was being pimped out to beings with all sorts of massive, weirdly-shaped cocks in exchange for money or favors. "Come on. If we hurry, we can still cut to the front of the line and get some breakfast before they stop serving our block."

As Rick began heading to the exit, Morty closed his eyes in quiet contemplation. He didn't remember much about the outside world, but he longed to return to it even so. It was hard to imagine that it could possibly be worse than whatever fate awaited him as Rick's bitch for however long his sentence was. Months? Years? Hell, for all Morty knew, he was there for life. And if Rick got out or kicked the bucket before he did, what then? Would he be able to slink back into the background, or would he end up going to some other asshole? No, it was clear that he couldn't stay here. He had to get out.

Morty gazed down at his covered arm. Rick thought of him like how people thought of pandas, right?

And who would cut open a panda?

"Rick, wait," said Morty, reaching down to the fabric sleeve covering up his arm and tugging it upwards. "You need to see this."

Rick spun around. "See what?"

Morty rolled down his sleeve to display the bumps still covering his arm.

"It's-" began Morty.

"-acne," finished Rick for him, yanking his sleeve back downwards with a disgusted look on his face. "Relax, it'll clear up in a few weeks."

"It's just-"

"Morty, I don't want to hear about your skin condition," said Rick. "Now come on, let's go!"

"But-"

Morty winced as Rick grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him close like he was some kind of a ragdoll, pressing their foreheads together and glaring at him with the intensity of a ferocious bear five seconds from ripping out the throat of its prey.

"Do you want me to cut out your vocal cords while we're here?" said Rick. "Because if you say one more fucking word about your arm, I'll do it."

Morty swallowed and shook his head.

"Didn't think so," said Rick, releasing Morty's wrist and shoving him towards the door. "Now move your ass."

Morty rubbed his wrist and followed after Rick with pursed lips. What the hell? He'd known that Rick wasn't exactly a stand-up guy, but he hadn't expected to be completely and utterly shut down like that, either. On the one hand, he definitely wanted to escape, but on the other, he was no longer sure that he could trust Rick to be reasonable. Perhaps it was best to just wait for the strange bumps on his arm to clear up and pray that his sentence was short. After all, he couldn't really see himself as the sort of person who would enjoy doing something particularly heinous. It had to be a relatively minor crime. Oh, or maybe he'd been framed! His lawyer was probably out there working day and night to clear his name.

_"It'S nOt FaIr, YoU hAvE nO rIgHtS, aNd He'S nOt A lAwYeR. We JuSt KeEp HiM hErE bEcAuSe He'S fUn."_

He clutched his head. Okay, maybe not.

Morty wasn't gonna lie; being Rick's little pet wasn't looking all that bad so far. When they'd first arrived at the mess hall, he had initially begun walking to the back of the line, but Rick had grabbed him by the arm and dragged him directly to the front. He expected them to be chewed out, but people were practically climbing over one another to get out of Rick's way.

Rick grabbed a pair of trays from the nearest person and slammed it down in front of the tentacled creature behind the counter before jerking his thumb in Morty's direction.

"This is Morty. He's one of mine now. You know the deal."

The cafeteria worker froze. "Oh, err, we saved a tray of the good stuff for you, Sanchez, but I'm afraid you're a little late. We're already out of-"

Morty jumped back as Rick reached over the counter to grab the unfortunate cafeteria worker's shirt.

"Sucks to be you then," said Rick. "Looks like you'll be buying me something from the commissary and bring it to my table, instead."

"O-oh, yeah, of course!" squeaked the creature. "Just as soon as I-"

"Now!"

"Right away!" said the creature. Rick released his shirt, at which point point he immediately waddled several steps backwards and shouted, "Yo, Cubberdinkus! I've gotta make a commissary run! Get Sanchez his meal!"

"You really didn't have to do that," said Morty. He would rather eat garbage food than make a bunch of enemies.

"If you aren't tough in here, people stop respecting you," said Rick, grabbing Morty by the arm and dragging him off towards the elevator like he was tugging a dog along on a leash. "If people stop respecting you, you'll earn yourself a sharpened toothbrush in the back. I don't know about you, but that's not the way I want to go out."

"Wait, what about our trays?" said Morty.

"I'm Rick Sanchez," said Rick. "I get my meals delivered."

When they reached the table, a handful of Rick's cronies from before were still there. Initially, Morty made the mistake of going for the table, but Rick was quick to shove him to the floor.

"Pets don't sit at the table," he said. His words were met with raucous laughter and applause. Morty couldn't believe that this was the same person who'd carried him to the clinic and paid out the nose just to get him a splint. It was like he was dealing with two wildly different people.

"Why not?" said Morty. "Almost everyone else came and went already! There's so much empty space!"

"Because I said so, that's why," said Rick.

Morty's shoulders slumped as Rick began chatting with the various aliens at the table. At some point, the tentacled cafeteria worker arrived with a pair of trays, one for Rick and one for Morty. It was a fair bit better-looking than the cube of unidentifiable edibles that Morty hadn't been permitted to eat the previous day, but he still wasn't quite sure what it was. There was something that looked like a purple, pulsating orange, as well as a bright maroon slab of what he could only describe as space tofu.

Rick reached down and grabbed Morty's plasticware before he could pick it up.

"Pets don't use utensils, either."

Morty scowled. What an asshole.

He scooped up a glob of the purple slab with his fingers and placed it in his mouth. It tasted far better than it looked, like a cupcake blended together with a buttercream frosting; it was a little on the sweet side, but he wasn't going to complain.

"Now, I might consider a little promotion if you can prove you deserve it," said Rick. "I've got a few errands I need taken care of. Think you can handle it, Morty?"

Morty swallowed what was in his mouth. "Can I hear what they are, first?"

"Well, what do you know? There might be hope for you, after all," said Rick, amused. "I just need you to deliver some things and make a couple of pick-ups."

"Deliver?" said Morty. "This place is huge, and I'm still learning my way around!"

Rick handed him a sheet of paper that Morty unrolled to reveal a crudely-drawn map.

"I'm going to give you some names and some packages," said Rick. "You'd better memorize them, because it's too risky to write them down. You're gonna go around delivering them and collecting payment. Remember that, because it's important. If you don't come back with what I'm owed, well, I'll have to get it some other way." He smirked. "Gigaborgats have these massive, foot-long cocks covered in barbs from head to toe. I wonder what they'd pay to put it in a cute little hole like yours."

Morty shivered. "Remember to get the payment. Got it."

"That's a good boy," said Rick. "Krushgor, give him the goods."

One of the gorilla-like aliens from earlier placed a handful of objects on the floor under the table. The first of these objects appeared to be a new prison uniform. Another was a narrow tube. The last was a stack of what looked a little like gift cards secured by a rubber band.

"What are those?" asked Morty.

"The tube has a stun baton inside," said Rick. "In case it wasn't obvious, that's contraband, so you'll be hiding it in your ass."

"Wait, what?"

"The uniform has drugs sewn into the lining," continued Rick. "There are four packets; two across the chest, and two over the shoulder blades. You can cut them open with this-" He dropped what appeared to be a box cutter on the ground by the uniform. "-when you get close enough to your destination. Don't open it in front of them, or they might try taking the uniform from you for the rest."

"You know, actually, the floor isn't all that ba-"

"The cards can be redeemed for commissary credits," said Rick. "You'll be giving those out to people as an advance on payment for tools and services. Don't worry about getting anything back right away; I'll be sending people with stretchier anal cavities than yours to take care of those collections. Just remember to give people the right card, and don't let anybody see the full stack, unless you want to get jumped."

"Are you even listening to-"

"And one more thing," said Rick. "Try not to look nervous. If you get frisked by a guard on the way, you'll end up in solitary for the next few weeks, and time will get added to your sentence. More importantly, all my shit will get confiscated, and I'll have to whore you out to make ends meet. Got it?"

"Got it," said Morty, defeated. What had he done to deserve this?

"Now get under the table and start changing," said Rick. He gestured to the oozing purple orange on Morty's tray. "The juice of those fruits is pretty slippery. You can use it as lube to get the tube in."

"Oh, geez," said Morty, finishing off his meal before crawling under the table to do as he'd been told.

Fortunately, no one seemed to have line of sight beneath the table, so he didn't end up feeling quite as exposed as he otherwise might have when he pulled down his pants to expose his ass. There was a peculiar familiarity in the feeling of squeezing the slippery juices out of the purple fruit and spreading them across the tube, then spreading the cheeks of his ass with one hand and gently pushing it up against his hole with the other. He expected to be met with a lot of resistance, but the object was fairly thin, and the sides perfectly smooth. With a little wiggling, it slid it relatively easily. Had he done this before?

_"I'm GoNnA nEeD yOu To TaKe ThEsE sEeDs InTo ThE bAtHrOoM, aNd I'm GoNnA nEeD yOu To PuT tHeM wAaAaAy Up InSiDe YoUr BuTtHoLe, MoRtY."_

"Nn, fuck," said Morty in response to the ensuing headache. Rick must have taken it to be from the tube, however, because he was quick to add his two cents:

"If you can't handle that, you're gonna be in for a rude awakening later on when I fuck you, Morty."

Even though he was out of side, Morty reflexively covered his face with his hands. "Do you have to say it like that?"

"What-what-what do you- You want me to just beat around the bush all day so you can pretend like it's not gonna happen?" said Rick. As usual, his cohorts sniggered like the dickwads they were. "When this is all over and done with, me and you have a date with the janitor's closet."

"You and I," corrected Morty under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing!"

Morty donned the new uniform shirt quickly, eager to get out of there before Rick decided that he wanted another blowjob; unsurprisingly, it felt tight and heavy in the areas where the drugs were stowed away. He slipped the commissary credit cards into one pocket and the box cutter into the other, then slipped out from under the table and got to his feet. He could still feel the stiff tube in his rectum, restricting his capacity to properly bend.

"Looks good so far," said Rick. "Now take a couple steps." Morty strode forward. "Stop and turn around." He stopped. "Now come back." He returned to Rick's side. "Not bad. Most people waddle around like a penguin the first few times they do this, but your gait looks pretty natural."

"Uh, thanks, I think?" said Morty.

"Yeah, yeah," said Rick, unrolling the map and pointing to various locations. "Now listen up, 'cause I'm not gonna tell you this again…"

* * *

 

As he trekked down the hallway, Morty went over a mental checklist of things to refrain from doing in order to disguise just how nervous he really was. Nervous habit one was hands at his face or chest, so he made sure to keep them at his sides. Two was the look on his face; he kept reminding himself not to bite or lick his lips, blink excessively, or otherwise demonstrate an uneasy expression.

Even with all that in mind, Morty knew he stuck out like a copper penny in a pile of quarters. Species aside, he was a fraction of the size of most of the other inmates, most of whom towered over him like mobile mountains. Rick had assured him that most people would know better than to mess with him, but 'most' was not 'all.' Furthermore, he had a pretty loose definition of the phrase 'mess with,' because while most people weren't physically messing with him, there was an awful lot of verbal taunting.

"Hey, look, Sanchez lost his pet!" cackled someone Morty couldn't even be bothered to turn and look at as he passed, seeing as it had to be the thirtieth guy to harass him since he'd left the cafeteria. "Run back home to your owner, butt-boy!"

He hadn't realized how much safer he felt at Rick's side until he was all alone in a sea of dangerous, Hulk-sized prisoners with no weapons to speak of beyond a box cutter and a stun baton, the latter of which was buried too deep inside of his asshole to be accessible during a crisis. The more Morty thought about it, the crazier this whole thing seemed. Why the fuck would Rick send him out to do this when he had dozens of bigger, stronger brutes he could get to do it for him? Was it because Morty was the only one who probably wouldn't demand payment? He was pretty sure that what Rick stood to lose if he failed was far greater than what he would have had to pay Grobnarb or Krushgor to get it done.

Morty glanced up at the signs above the doors. According to the map, the Mold block was supposed to be right around…

Mold Block, read one of the signs. Aha! Morty hurried past the bored-looking guard by the entrance.

The cells here were unique in that they had unyielding glass instead of bars, sort of like tanks. Most of the creatures he passed looked like fish or amphibians, and some had specialized wheelchairs with water tanks that allowed them to get around on land if they lacked legs. Morty allowed himself to relax a little; for as awful of a thing that it was to take comfort in, he couldn't help but feel more confident in the presence of creatures who seemed to be at a much greater disadvantage than he was.

Morty took a look around for the location of his first delivery. The cell he was looking for, 105, was on the bottom floor.

Just when he was sure that this was going to be a piece of cake, Morty reached the cell in question. The being waiting within resembled an eel with long, vampiric fangs. He seemed to be busy reading. Morty gently knocked on the glass to get his attention.

That proved to be a mistake.

Like something out of a horror movie, the eel's head snapped around a full 180 degrees. The rest of his body quickly followed suit, and he raced over to get up in Morty's face with such speed and intensity that he almost fell over.

"Who the fuck do you think you are to be knocking at my cell?" demanded the eel.

"I'm Morty," said Morty. "I-"

"I know who you are!" screamed the eel. "Do you think I'm fucking stupid?"

Morty rapidly shook his head, not bothering to mention that he was just answering the question. Everyone was constantly interrupting him anyway, and honestly, he was too terrified to risk saying the wrong thing.

"What's THAT supposed to mean? Are you LAUGHING at me?" shrieked the eel, and it was only then that Morty remembered that nodding and head-shaking, while ubiquitous on Earth, did not necessarily mean the same thing on other planets.

"I meant- That means 'no' where I'm from!" Morty hastily explained.

"Oh, so now you're telling me I'm ignorant of other planets' cultures, is that it?"

The eel's fangs glistened under the bright prison lights, and Morty had to fight back against the involuntary relaxation of his bladder compelling him to wet his pants.

"I-I-I'm here with a delivery from Rick!" said Morty, getting desperate.

"Oh! Well, why didn't you say so?" said the eel, immediately calming down to the point of being nigh-unrecognizable. "My bad, I didn't think he'd send his pet out to do this. Sorry for the attitude. I can be a real piece of work before I've had my morning meth!"

"It's fine," lied Morty, because he wasn't about to make the mistake of agreeing with the eel's self-deprecating statement. "I, uh-" Wait, hadn't Rick told him not to reveal where the drugs were hidden on his person in front of people? "Do you have anywhere private I can go to-"

"Are you trying to tell me you don't trust me?" roared the eel. "Now give me my fucking shit!"

"Yeah, okay!" squeaked Morty, pulling out the box cutter and sliding it under the front of his shirt. Slowly, so as not to slice open the package and spill powder everywhere, he sliced the fabric of the inner lining where the drugs had been stitched into place and removed the package, then handed it over to the eel. "Do you have the payment?"

"Give me a second!" growled the eel, tearing open the package and portioning out some of the powder over the cover of his book so he could snort it up. "Oooooh, yeah. That's the stuff!"

"So, uh…"

"Payment, right!" said the eel, giggling like a happy child. "Heeeeeere it is!"

He handed Morty a card of commissary credits similar to the ones that Morty was passing out.

"You're a real cutie, you know that?" laughed the eel, stroking Morty's cheek. "Tell Sanchez that if he's open to renting out that nice little ass of yours, I wanna be first in line!"

"Uh, thanks," said Morty, grimacing. "I'll, uh, I'll let him know."

"Good kid," said the eel. "In fact…" He slipped another card full of credits Morty's way. "This one's for you. Get yourself something nice from the commissary, and if someone ends up, say, spilling Sanchez's guts all over the floor, maybe think about coming my way for protection instead, hm?"

"Yeeeeeah…" Nope. Nope, nope, _nope._ "Umm, okay, bye."

With that done, Morty hauled ass out of there. That was one delivery down. All he had to do was stay alive through six more, and maybe Rick would give him a fork to eat with. Truly, this would all be worth it in the end.

His next stop was the Trash block to hopefully get rid of the stun baton in his ass.

"Hey, sweetheart! How do you like my impression of you?" said some rando in the hallway. He stuck his fingers in his mouth and made long, languid slurping noises.

Morty frowned. At some point, it had ceased to be embarrassing. Now it was just annoying.

"Hey, everybody! Watch this!"

Morty jumped in pain and alarm as something whacked him hard enough across the ass to not only bruise it, but also cause the container buried inside to make an unnerving 'pop!' That was a bad sign.

"Hey!" said Morty, but the individual, an octopus-like being, had raced off before he'd seen their nametag. As it turned out, prison was full of dickbags. Who knew?

Unable to do anything but hope for the best, Morty forged ahead to Rick's next client. The Trash block consisted of cells surrounded by force fields. Based on the fact that the majority of the inmates there appeared to be invertebrates or otherwise slime-based, Morty's best guess was that they were designed to hold inmates capable of squeezing through the smallest of spaces. He took the elevator up to the top floor, then circled around until he reached the number Rick had given him.

"Delivery from Rick Sanchez," called Morty, getting to the point straight away rather than risking another near-beating.

The being inside the cage was a pitch-black, vaguely humanoid creature with six glowing white eyes and an amorphous form. It had skin, but was clearly boneless, for it could squash and stretch itself like its innards were made of putty.

"So you're the one that Sanchez sent," gurgled the creature, cocking its head at a complete ninety degree angle. "Interesting."

That was the sort of dialogue spoken only by supervillains, so Morty didn't want to stick around any longer than he had to.

"Yep, it's me, the prison bitch," said Morty. "Do you mind if I come inside for a second to take this thing out?"

At the very least, the amorphous being seemed more reasonable than the eel, opting to step back and gesture for Morty to come inside. Morty hurried in and pulled his pants down to retrieve the tube, sighing with relief as it popped out of his sore ass.

"Here it is," said Morty. The container seemed to have opened inside of him, but the stun baton otherwise appeared to be intact.

"The integrity of the container was breached," said the amorphous being. "How unfortunate. Tell your employer that I will not be paying for this."

"What?" said Morty, doing his best to stay calm. "It's just the container. The baton's fine, look!"

He held up the stun button and pressed the switch. Unfortunately, real-life electric devices didn't generate visible fields of static like in cartoons, so the effects couldn't be seen by the naked eye.

"Is that so?" said the amorphous being. "Perhaps you should let me test it on you, then, just to be safe."

"Oh geez," said Morty. "There's gotta be another way you can test it!"

"Your hesitation leads me to doubt your confidence in the product," said the amorphous being.

"I'm hesitating because I'm confident in the product!" said Morty. "Why don't you test it on yourself?"

"How unprofessional," said the amorphous being. "Berating the consumer is a fast way to put yourself out of business. I think we may need some form of compensation."

The sound of footsteps rang out through the hallway behind him. Morty swiveled around on his heel to find that a horde of other invertebres had blocked him in. That wasn't a good sign.

"...Compensation?" said Morty.

"Like, for example…" said the amorphous being. "...all of the drugs in your shirt."

Fuuuuuck.

"Hey, wait a second!" said Morty, recognizing one of the creatures in the crowd. It was the octopus-like being who'd struck him across the ass. "I remember you! You were the one who hit me!" He paused. "Hold on, you knew the container was in my ass! You broke it open on purpose!"

"Hmm, so the boy is smart enough to realize when he's been set up," said the amorphous creature. "And yet still too stupid to know when to keep his mouth shut. As I'm sure you know, I can't have Sanchez finding out about this, so it looks like someone is going to have to have a little accident."

"Oh, fuck me," breathed Morty, looking around frantically for an out as the masses closed in on him. "Come on, I've been here for _two days!"_

Wait a second, he had a weapon now!

"Back off!" said Morty, waving around the stun baton. "I'm armed!"

The amorphous being grabbed the stun baton by the stunny bit and ripped it from Morty's hands.

"My kind are immune to electric shocks," said the amorphous being, wrapping his arm-like appendages around Morty's. He stretched himself upwards until Morty's feet were completely off the ground, leaving him unable to do anything but flail and claw uselessly at its stretchy flesh. The sea of foes parted as he walked Morty over to the edge of the catwalk. Recognizing its intention, Morty grabbed at the barrier that it was trying to push him over so it could drop him off of the edge to his death.

"H-help!" he did his best to croak out, but it was no use. The amorphous being had coiled its arms too tightly around his throat for him to scream, and the lack of both blood and air was making him lightheaded. Was this the end? Murdered in some minor character's cliche make-it-look-like-an-accident plot? Who was honestly going to believe that he accidentally fell over a catwalk wall specifically designed to prevent people from falling over? He would have questioned the logic, but he was having difficulty even staying conscious.

"I'll be taking these," said the amorphous being, sliding the wad of commissary credit cards out of Morty's pocket. "We'll just say that they were looted off of your corpse after your untimely demise."

Morty could feel his grip on the wall weakening. If this kept up, it wouldn't be long before he closed his eyes for the last time. Where was his last-minute rescue when he needed it?

He gritted his teeth. Since when was he some kind of damsel in distress? He was Morty fucking Smith, damn it! Sure, maybe he couldn't remember exactly what that meant, but whatever he'd done outside was clearly enough to get him thrown in here, so he couldn't be that helpless.

He wasn't going to die here. He refused to die here. Morty let go of the barrier with one hand just long enough to grab the box cutter in his pocket, then slashed at the amorphous creature's arms.

Schlick!

Inky black blood oozed out of its flesh, causing it to shriek and retract its arms, dropping Morty back onto solid ground in the process. Morty, who wasn't too proud to flee from a situation where he was hopelessly outnumbered, immediately made a break for the elevator while the horde attended to their injured leader. As soon as he was inside, he mashed the 'close door' button, which was thankfully far more effective here than it had ever been on any Earth elevator; the doors shut behind him before any of the others could squeeze themselves inside. He quickly pressed the button to get to the lowest floor.

"Get him, you fools! Don't let him get to Sanchez!"

Morty could only watch with his mouth agape as the various invertebrates jumped fearlessly off of the catwalk. As he peered downwards through the glass, he could see them landing far below him on the first floor in various forms (some more splattery than others) only to immediately rise back up unharmed. It was clear that the second he reached his destination and the doors opened to let him out, he was fucked.

But that was only if he reached his destination.

He took a deep breath, raised his leg, and kicked the elevator controls as hard as he could, but nothing happened. He struck it a second time, then a third, but he couldn't muster the strength necessary to break it.

Morty took another look at the ground below where the amorphous being and its cronies were waiting with terrifying grins. What to do, what to do? How did one destroy electronics aside from smashing them?

An idea popped into his head.

"I hope this works," he murmured, whipping out his penis and taking aim at the buttons. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and it wasn't like he had any better ideas. Grimacing, he doused the panel in a stream of piss.

For a long moment, the elevator kept going, and Morty feared that he'd only succeeded in dooming himself to die with his dick out. Just before it reached the bottom, however, the lights began to flicker, and it sputtered to a halt, leaving him shielded by glass.

"Oh, thank fuck," he breathed, pressing his back to the far wall of the elevator and sliding to the floor while his racing heart got back under control. He didn't even care that he was sitting in a puddle of his own urine.

"Are you kidding me?" he could hear the amorphous being screaming outside, though it was muffled through the glass. "Someone find a way to get him out of there before maintenance gets here!"

Morty winced as creatures of all kinds began banging on the glass, first with fists, then with objects. Whatever they'd made the elevators out of must have been pretty sturdy, however, because it didn't so much as crack.

With the immediate danger out of the way, Morty was left to wonder how to explain himself when maintenance did come by. He couldn't very well tell them that it was a stun baton delivery gone wrong. But then, neither could they.

"Get out here, coward!" shouted one of the invertebres banging on the elevator.

"I'm good, thanks!" said Morty, struggling to weigh his options despite the racket.

He'd already managed to lose the commissary credit cards, so he was already screwed in every sense of the word; Rick's threat to whore him out to make up the difference weighed heavily on his mind. He didn't want to imagine just how much worse it would be if he got the rest of the drugs confiscated, too.

"Maintenance is coming!" said someone. "Look sharp!"

While the others scrambled to clean up evidence of their wrongdoing, Morty began slicing the rest of the drug packets out of his shirt as quickly as he could. There wasn't enough time to stuff dry plastic up his ass, leaving him with only one option. With shaky hands, he placed the packets one by one into his mouth and swallowed them. It wasn't a pleasant process, but if it spared his ass even a couple of giant alien dicks, it would be worth it.

All that left was the box cutter. It was pretty small, so Morty stood back up, stuffed it between his butt cheeks and prayed that he wouldn't have to sit or otherwise be smacked on the ass.

"What the hell is going on in here?" someone shouted. Morty breathed a sigh of relief as a swarm of guards burst into the cell block to begin wrestling people to the ground. "Hey! You, in the elevator! What the fuck happened?"

It was time to spin a story. The only problem was that if he tried to implicate the horde who'd tried to kill him, they would undoubtedly work together to implicate him. Furthermore, he wasn't sure just how heavily the 'snitches get stitches' rule applied in space prison, and he really didn't want to give anybody else cause to hate him.

"I, umm, I really had to go," said Morty.

"You couldn't wait a couple more minutes?" said the guard.

Huh, he hadn't actually expected that to work.  How often did this happen? "...No."

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," grumbled the guard, grabbing his radio. "Hey, we need maintenance on the elevator in the Trash block. Some dumbass pissed all over the elevator controls."

Several minutes passed as the other inmates were cleared away so maintenance could come by and pry the doors open to get Morty out of the elevator. He didn't bother to argue or fight back when they slapped a pair of handcuffs around his wrists and shoved him out into the hall, though he hoped there wouldn't be any particularly thorough exams on the way to wherever they were taking him.

Partway down the hall, another inmate flagged down one of the guards. Morty recognized him from Rick's table.

"We'll take it from here," murmured Rick's associate, passing the guard a card.

The guard checked the amount on the card and nodded. "That'll cover it. Release him."

Someone unlocked the handcuffs and shoved Morty off in the direction of Rick's associate.

"Wait, so I-I-I'm free to go?" said Morty.

"If by 'free to go' you mean 'coming with me back to Rick,' then sure," said Rick's associate, grabbing Morty by the hair and tugging him along.

"Ow, ow, ow! Okay, I get it, I'm coming!"

"So, uh-" said Morty as he was shoved into Rick's cell. His fellow human looked distinctly unimpressed.

"Shut up and sit down," said Rick.

"Where-"

"Where-where-where do you think?" said Rick. "Where dogs sit. On the floor."

"Sorry, I just- Give me a second," said Morty, fishing the box cutter out from between his ass cheeks. "Umm, where do you want me to put-"

One of Rick's lackeys snatched it out of his hands. Well, that answered that question. Morty took a seat cross-legged on the floor in front of Rick.

"Now tell me what the fuck happened," said Rick.

Morty took a deep breath.

"I was set up," he explained immediately. "One of those guys from the Trash block smacked me really hard on the ass in the hallway trying to break the stun baton. It-it didn't break, but the container opened up, and that weird squishy squashy guy with the six eyes said he wasn't gonna pay for it. I tried to tell him it still worked, but he didn't care, and then his goons surrounded me, and I recognized the one who hit me in the hallway, so then he tried to drop me down ten floors and make it look like I accidentally fell to my death even though I'm pretty sure it's almost impossible to accidentally fall over one of those barriers, so I stabbed him with the box cutter and ran for the elevator, but they all jumped down and were waiting at the bottom, so I pissed on the elevator controls to make it stop so they couldn't kill me once I reached the bottom."

With his story finished, Morty took the opportunity to catch his breath.

"Figures," said Rick, turning to Krushgor. "Put out a green light on the asshole who thought he could stab me in the back and get away with it. I want him dead by tomorrow." He turned back to Morty. "And you! Don't think you're off the hook just 'cause someone threatened to kill you. What'd I say about getting the drugs out of your shirt?"

"Do-do-do it in private," murmured Morty.

"So why the fuck did my associates see you whipping it out in full view of a whole block?" demanded Rick.

"Uh, how am I supposed to answer that question?" asked Morty. "I mean, the answer is that they saw it 'cause I did it, but that sounds a little back-talky if I-"

"Morty, do yourself a God-damned favor for once in your life and shut the fuck up," said Rick. Morty decided to heed the command. "I gave you a litter box, and you decided to shit all over the floor, instead. Now I'm stuck cleaning up your mess." He sighed. "Take off the shirt. I'll get somebody who wasn't lobotomized at birth to do the rest of the deliveries."

One of those uncomfortable, 'oh God I'm so screwed' smiles worked their way across Morty's face; it was the kind that liked to pop up at the worst possible times, almost always prompting the person who saw it to angrily demand what was so funny.

"I kind of, uh, swallowed them," said Morty. "You know, so it wouldn't get confiscated."

Rick stared him down like he'd just told him that the Earth was flat.

"You swallowed fifteen grams of methamphetamines," said Rick. "Stored in _cheap sandwich bags."_

"Uh…"

Rick stood up, grabbed a toothbrush from the nearby shelf, and seized Morty's jaw.

"If you don't wanna die of an overdose, you'd better open up."

"An over- HRK!"

Morty gagged as Rick shoved the toothbrush down his throat, poking and prodding with deadly precision until he threw up all over the floor.

"That's two bags down," said Rick. "One to go."

"Waigh!" gurgled Morty as Rick shoved the toothbrush back in his mouth. "Stoph- URGH!"

The last of the drug bags came up in short order, leaving Morty on his hands and knees in a puddle of his own vomit. Rick didn't hesitate to take the slimy, acid-coated merchandise and hand it off to someone else to take care of.

"Rinse that off and put it in a new bag," said Rick before dumping a towel over Morty's head. "As for you, you're gonna clean yourself up in the sink, brush your teeth, change your clothes and come with me to the nearest broom closet so I can finally get a return on the massive fucking investment I've already made in you."

Too tired to argue, Morty could do little more than utter out a weak, "Uh-huh."


	3. The Great Escape

"So, uh, sex, huh?" said Morty awkwardly as Rick pulled him along by the wrist down the hall. "That's-that's what we're having."

"Yep."

"Right after I threw up all over myself."

"That's right."

"Oh geez," said Morty.

While the whole situation was a far cry from ideal, he was glad that Rick hadn't seen fit to fuck him in his cell in plain view of the rest of the block. Still, he could tell from the knowing leers of the other inmates in the hall that the purpose of the trip was plain for all to see. His fingers twitched with apprehension. Rick's cock was softer than the baton container had been, but it was also way thicker. There was no doubt in Morty's mind that this was going to hurt like a bitch, but he'd find some way to grin and bear it until the end.

"This'll work," said Rick, glancing both ways to make sure no corrections officers were present before sliding open a nondescript door, shoving Morty inside, and closing it behind them.

The room was spacious enough to walk in, but cluttered up with various pieces of janitorial equipment. A couple of mops had been leaned against one corner, and there was a shelf full of cleaning chemicals. At least, Morty was pretty sure they were cleaning chemicals; the labels weren't written in any language that he understood.

"So, uh…"

"Take off your clothes," said Rick.

Right. Of course. That would be the first step. Morty's face flushed red as he peeled off his uniform, followed by his underwear. Strangely, it wasn't quite as awkward as he'd first anticipated. Once again, there was a bizarre familiarity that left him feeling like this wasn't too unusual, though he dared not chase that thought down the rabbit hole for fear of the headache to follow.

"Now let me see your arm."

"My- Huh?"

"The one covered in Braille, stupid," said Rick, grabbing the arm in question and taking a closer peek.

"Hold on, you knew it was Braille?" said Morty, but Rick was too busy reading the message.

"Hm, yeah, that's what I thought it said, but it doesn't hurt to check. Hold on a second."

Rick fished a device from his pocket that looked a little like a repurposed cellphone and aimed it at Morty's body.

"Wh-wh- Are you taking a picture?" stammered Morty, quickly covering up his groin. Surely Rick didn't intend to blackmail him with it or, even worse, just straight-up send it to people. "Where did you even get a phone?"

"Commissary," said Rick. "They're not interstellar, so they can only make calls within the prison. Most people don't use them 'cause they've all been tapped and set off an alarm if you try to modify them, but the people who built the alarm didn't count on anyone being smart enough to disable it."

"But why bother if no one else has a modified one to communicate with?"

"It's not for calls or messages," said Rick. "I created a pocket-sized x-ray machine while you were gone on those errands."

"What…?" said Morty as Rick walked around his body to take some pictures from the front and back. "Oh! So you can see the-"

Rick slammed a hand over his mouth.

"You'd think that after all this, you'd have learned to keep your mouth shut," said Rick. "I'm not gonna lie, I was pretty impressed to hear that you survived getting ganged up on by the Trash block, but you're still one of the biggest fucking morons I've ever met, and that means a lot coming from someone whose only memories are of criminals too dumb to stay out of prison. You can't just blurt shit out wherever you want here! There are cameras and microphones everywhere! These closets are some of the only places that aren't bugged, and the camera in the corner only takes one low-resolution snapshot every two and a half minutes. Speaking of which, get ready to pose."

Before Morty could ask what he meant by that, Rick pocketed the phone and slammed Morty's back against the closest wall, then pressed their lips together into a deep kiss. Morty's cry of shock was muffled by the presence of Rick's warm mouth against his. For an old man, he had such soft lips. As he sucked and nibbled at Morty's lower lip, the fear and tension in his body rapidly melted away.

Something about this felt wrong, most likely the fact that Rick was a crazed murderer who had already sexually assaulted him before. Damn if he wasn't a good kisser, though. Morty's eyes rolled upwards, and his knees buckled beneath him as Rick's tongue entered his mouth. He rolled it about the inside of Morty's mouth like it was his own, and he did it with such confidence that he wasn't inclined to disagree.

After a long, blissful moment, Rick pulled his lips away, leaving a blushing Morty to stand in slack-jawed awe. "Woah."

"We're gonna have to keep going further every two and a half minutes to make sure the cameras think we're just fucking," said Rick, his businesslike demeanor snapping Morty back to reality. "Pick a position while I check out these pictures."

"O-oh," said Morty, not-so-subtly covering up his half-chub with his hands as he lowered himself to the ground. The whole situation struck him as incredibly bizarre, and it was difficult to wrap his mind around what exactly was happening. "Isn't fucking in a broom closet still against the rules?"

"Yeah, but the pervs running the cameras don't give a fuck," said Rick. "Bunch of voyeurs. If a guard sees us in person, they've gotta do something so they don't become known for corruption around the prison and end up on the top of the list of people to lay off during budget cuts."

"You seem pretty confident about that."

"I've fucked a lot of people in this closet, Morty," said Rick. "Partly because prison is boring as hell if you're not having sex, and partly because I've been gathering information on this shithole since I got here, waiting for an opportunity. When I heard that another human had been seen coming off the drop ship, I knew something was up, so I grabbed some useless garbage device I'd planned on scrapping anyway and bumped into you in the hallway so I could make you my bitch and give people an excuse for why I was taking you into private places."

For a long moment, Morty was left completely speechless by the complete overload of information that had just been dumped on him. Eventually, however, as Rick zoomed in on the pictures he'd taken, he finally managed to string a sentence together:

"You did that _on purpose?"_

"Well, duh," said Rick. "What do you think the odds are that you'd bump into the only other human here on your first day if I hadn't done it intentionally? It kind of- It's the sort of thing that really stretches a person's suspension of disbelief, Morty."

"But _why?"_ said Morty. "Just because I'm human? That-that was your reasoning?"

Rick rolled his eyes and looked up from his modified phone.

"When I first got here, nobody in this entire fucking prison had ever seen a human before, and nobody had ever heard of Earth," said Rick. "Now, you may not remember people, Morty, but you should remember what Earth technology was like. We don't _have_ interstellar travel. More-more specifically, our planet doesn't. So how the fuck did we get here?"

"Oh, I, um, I've been trying not to think about that stuff," said Morty. "Every time I try to think about who I was outside of this place, I get a really bad headache."

"A headache, huh?" said Rick, taking another look at the pictures. "Well, I might be able to help you explain that one. Look at this."

He turned the phone around to display Morty's skull from the front and back. Morty wasn't super well-versed in anatomy, but there was something incredibly strange about his cranium in the picture. It almost looked like it had been wrapped in something.

"What the hell is that?" said Morty. "Do I have cancer, or something?"

"Turn around," said Rick. "Let me take a look."

Morty did as he was told, trying not to laugh from general ticklishness as Rick slid his fingers up the back of his neck.

"There's a little scarring under your hairline, but it's not too bad. The incision was pretty professional, probably made by someone with a lot of surgical experience, but from the way they handled the placement, they probably didn't specialize in brains," said Rick, only to take another look at the device. "It's hard to tell through an x-ray, but it looks like someone tried to put something in your head designed to counter the memory field, sort of like the devices that the guards are equipped with to make them immune to its effects. The materials must have been perfectly picked to get around the scanners here, so it looks like they were working off of a solid blueprint, but the craftsmanship is sloppy, like the actual assembly was done by a total amateur. You've literally got a few screws loose in your head. No wonder you're getting headaches; the counter-field is probably flickering on and off around your brain like Christmas lights."

"Why would there be a device in my head?" said Morty in alarm.

"If it's not obvious to you by now, then maybe it's already fried your brain," said Rick. "Now, I don't know if you did it willingly, or if somebody else forced you, but someone got you locked in here deliberately to break me out. From the way the message on your arm is written, it looks like they weren't super confident in the device, so they decided to give you a written reminder as Plan B in case that fell through. One way or another, someone put a lot of thought into this plan. Check it out."

Rick scrolled down to display Morty's back. His spine was completely obscured; instead, there appeared to be some kind of map across his back somehow designed to be legible with an x-ray device. Were these the blueprints the message had mentioned?

"Now pose for the camera," said Rick, pocketing the phone and climbing between Morty's legs.

Morty gasped and threw his head back as Rick's clothed crotch rubbed up against his own, momentarily forgetting that he was laying down on solid metal and smashing his head against the ground. "Oww, fuck!"

He wanted to rub his head, but Rick pinned his hands down on the ground below and latched onto his throat, licking and sucking at with a bruising intensity that nonetheless had Morty quickly forgetting his minor head trauma. He let out a confused whine, simultaneously pained and aroused by Rick's brutal assault of his neck. How was he so good at this? Then again, he was old, so it stood to reason that he had a of experience. Was this why some people were really into older partners? Because if that was the case, Morty was really beginning to see the appeal.

By the time Rick finished with his neck, Morty was red-faced and breathless, and his soft cock had gone as stiff as a pole. He knew Rick was dangerous, but that important little tidbit didn't stop his body from responding to the attention. If anything, the rush of fear and adrenaline from having the teeth of a violent criminal so close to his jugular was only serving to heighten his senses and enhance the pleasure.

Morty couldn't help but be disappointed as Rick, who was still between his legs, went back to looking at the prison blueprints on his phone. He wanted more, but he was too afraid and ashamed to ask. Normal people didn't enjoy being molested in a janitor's closet by people they barely knew, especially when said people barely gave a shit that they'd almost been killed earlier.

Despite his near-death experience, however, Morty didn't really feel much worse for wear. His brain had already pushed the event to the back of his mind like it was no more important a memory than shopping for groceries. He felt like he ought to be traumatized, but no matter how vividly he thought about what happened, it didn't really bother him. It had happened, it was over, and the problem was currently in the process of resolving itself by way of Rick ordering a hit on the guy who'd tried to kill him. Therefore, there was nothing to worry about.

...What kind of a jaded sociopath did a person have to be to think about it like that?

At long last, Rick set the phone down again.

"You still feeling loose enough from the stun baton, or do you need me to finger you, first?"

"Uh…" said Morty.

"I'm gonna take your virginal shyness as a 'yes' to fingering," said Rick, retrieving a tube of some kind of gel from his pocket. He popped the cap with his thumb like this was something he did every day, then spread it across his fingers, rubbing them all together to make sure they were evenly coated. "Now let's see just how innocent you really are."

Rick didn't take his time working his finger in, nor did he have to; the tube had left Morty more than prepared for the intrusion of a single finger, and oh, what an intrusion it was! Almost as soon as it was in, he could feel Rick curl it up in the direction of his cock, rubbing and pressing on his prostate like it came second nature to him.

"Oh, God!" said Morty, already clawing at the ground in search of something to hold. His back bridged upwards, and he reflexively thrust his hips towards the source of the pleasure. He'd known prostates were a thing, but when he'd mentally prepared himself for sex with Rick, he hadn't anticipated actually liking the way it felt. In fact, he hadn't really anticipated Rick caring enough to finger him in the first place. "Mm, _nn!"_

"Jesus. I know I'm good, but you're really kind of a freak, aren't you?" said Rick, slipping in another finger. "You're relaxed enough that it goes in pretty easy, but you're already this worked up over one finger? Come to think of it, you did a pretty good job walking with that baton in your ass. Is that what you did on the outside?"

"How would I know what I- _OH,_ oh fuck!" cried Morty.

This was nothing like jacking off. It felt like the beginning of an orgasm welling up inside of him that then radiated throughout his entire abdomen. His whole body shuddered with pleasure, and it wasn't long before Rick had him panting like he was running a marathon. By the time Rick inserted the second finger, he was already openly rocking back, desperate for more stimulation against that wonderful little pleasure button inside of him. He needed it faster, deeper, harder! But the fact that he was reacting as much as he was was already too embarrassing to bear. He brought his arm over his face to cover his eyes like that would somehow stop Rick from seeing just how good he was feeling.

"God, you're fucking easy," cackled Rick, much to Morty's distress. "If I knew it was gonna be like this, I might have invited someone else to the party."

"I-I-I don't- I'm not-" stammered Morty. The humiliation should have been a massive turn-off, but he was rapidly entering that all-too-familiar 'nothing is too weird or sacred to get me off right now' state of arousal that tended to result in particularly regrettable porn choices. As Rick slid a third finger inside of him, even the pain wasn't nearly enough to make him want to stop. It wasn't nearly as bad as falling off a cliff and shattering both of his legs, or getting shot through the gut with a laser gun.

Fortunately, Rick's magic fingers were distracting enough to make him abandon that train of thought before the headache started.

"You're so full of shit," said Rick. He placed his thumb up against the spot between Morty's sack and ass and _pressed,_ and Morty couldn't find the will to bite back a scream. His toes curled so hard that he could feel his feet starting to cramp, and he slammed them against the floor to keep himself from overexerting the muscles, sending a shockwave of pain through his sprained leg. "You horny little slut! You're loving every second of this!"

"No!" insisted Morty as though it would somehow change Rick's mind in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary. He did his best to tell himself that this was awful, that he didn't want it, but logic meant nothing to his sex drive. Suddenly, even the things that he hated about Rick were somehow enticing, like his habit of dragging Morty around like a sack of potatoes with legs, or constantly telling him what an idiot he was, or popping in whenever he wanted to drag him off on all sorts of dangerous-

"Well, that was fun, but I-I-I think you're ready for something even better," said Rick, retracting his fingers and leaving Morty shaking in a puddle of sweat. Between the elevator piss, the vomit, and now this, were there any of his own bodily fluids that he _hadn't_ sat in today?

Oh, right, he still hadn't been left in a puddle of his own blood. Morty sincerely hoped that bizarre pattern didn't continue to its next logical step.

"Wait, stop!" he said, because damn it, this was still technically happening against his will, though it was more a reminder to himself than to Rick. His traitorous cock rested atop his lower belly, still _achingly_ hard and eager for release. If it could talk, he had a feeling that its only words would be a pointed 'Get fucked,' both figuratively and literally.

"Do you _really_ mean that?" said Rick, pushing his legs apart and closing the distance between his own impressive girth and Morty's twitching ass. "Look me in the eye and tell me that you want to stop."

Morty bit his lip. "Would it make a difference?"

It was then that Rick went from a regular old criminal to something far more terrifying. He bore the grin of a man willing to go to go to crazy lengths and take whatever risks it took to get what he wanted; a thrill-seeking gambling addict who liked to play with the highest possible stakes. He hadn't issued any direct threats, but Morty knew in that moment that he had far more to fear from him than he'd ever had to worry about with the amorphous man.

So why did he kind of like it?

"Are you willing to find out?" asked Rick.

Morty hesitated. If he said 'stop' again, would Rick really…?

He closed his eyes, set his head down on the ground, and murmured out an answer.

"Morty, I'm over seventy years old, and I didn't bring a hearing aid. Speak up," said Rick.

"Please don't stop," repeated Morty, louder that time, but still barely above a whisper.

"That's what I thought," said Rick, squirting more gel into his palm and spreading it across his cock. "Take it, then, you fucking whore."

Morty's tongue hung out of his mouth as Rick pressed into him. Once again, it didn't hurt nearly as much as he expected, but that ever-present sense that something about this was seriously fucked up (and not just for the obvious reasons) refused to go away. There was something lurking just beyond the wall between him and his memories telling him that he would come to regret this once he figured out exactly what it was.

As Rick's shaft seated itself against his sensitive prostate, Morty decided that whatever latent memory it was that thought it was important enough to come between him and this perfect moment could fuck off back to the depths of his mind where it had come from.

"How's that, sweetheart?" said Rick. For a moment, Morty questioned the uncharacteristically soft pet name, but quickly decided it was simply another way for Rick to mock him. "Feels better than a few fingers, right?"

Morty nodded deliriously.

"Mm, look who finally figured out how to shut up," teased Rick. He jerked his hips forwards, and Morty responded by wrapping his legs around Rick's waist and squeezing as hard as he could, silently begging for more. "Just when I was starting to warm up to that-that-that annoying fucking stutter of yours."

Morty could feel the pitch of his moans heightening with every successive thrust into his body. As soon as Rick got a good rhythm going, he showed very little mercy, pounding into Morty like he was trying to punch a hole in his intestines. It was hard to believe he was as old as his nametag claimed; surely a person of his age would be far too arthritic to plow into him with such passionate intensity.

He could feel himself drawing close to orgasm, even as his cock lay untouched. The pleasure was unlike anything he could ever remember experiencing before (granted, his memories encompassed a rather short span of time) in that it didn't remain localized in his groin. It spread across his body like hot lava spilling down the sides of a volcano to scorch the surrounding earth, igniting every last nerve and sending him spiraling out of control. He reached around Rick's chest and dug his fingers into his back. Rick grunted, but otherwise didn't protest.

"Rick!" he said at last, unable to hold himself back anymore. "It's-it's too much, I can't-"

His climax hit him like a truck, mercilessly plowing over his body and crushing all rational thought beneath its heavenly wheels. Every muscle in his body tensed, and he found himself mindlessly raking his nails over Rick's back for several seconds of ecstasy before finally collapsing at his sides. Rick continued to pound into him for several moments more before releasing his load, and he wasn't shy about riding it out until his cock softened inside of Morty's hole.

"Fuck," panted Rick. "Not bad, kid."

Morty, who felt about ready to pass out, raised his hands to find that his nails were covered in blood. "Umm, sorry about your back."

"Are you kidding?" snickered Rick. "There's nothing I like more than the feeling of a horny little bitch clawing at my back like the desperate fucking animal they are." He paused. "Except maybe booze. And drugs. And- Well, a lot of things, but nails across the back is definitely somewhere in the top ten."

"Oh," said Morty through heavy breaths. "Good to know I didn't fuck up again."

"Don't be so sure," mused Rick. "You're like some kind of disaster magnet. If you don't find another way to disappoint me by the end of the day, I'll eat my own dick."

"What's that, some kind of challenge?" murmured Morty, smiling despite himself. Post-coital bliss was a hell of a drug.

"Mm, maybe not," mused Rick, pinching his cheek. "I mean, if I lost my dick, how would I ever get to fuck that cute little ass of yours again?"

Morty blushed. "Oh geez."

 

* * *

 

After a quick trip to the shower, Morty was all too eager for the chance to return to his cell and collapse on his bunk. Thankfully, he wasn't walking with a pronounced limp beyond the one he already had from his sprained ankle, which was especially shocking given just how hard Rick had plowed into him. It felt a little weird to sit down, but not altogether unpleasant.

"You look pretty happy," mused Gump through a mouthful of cookies from the shelf full of snacks that Rick had left him.

Morty snatched the bag out of his claws.

"That's for leaving me this morning!" said Morty.

"Can you blame me? Everything you touch turns to pure insanity," said Gump. "Someone was just telling me how you apparently stabbed someone with a box cutter and destroyed an elevator by pissing on it."

"He started it!" said Morty, climbing up the ladder to his bunk and falling back with a relieved sigh. "What, am-am I just supposed to let some weirdo throw me over a railing to my death?"

"Oh, I'm not judging your response," said Gump. "But I do question how you keep getting yourself into these situations."

"If I knew that, then I wouldn't be getting into them anymore," muttered Morty.

"Touche," said Gump, standing up and leaning against Morty's bunk. "Hey, how was sex with Sanchez, by the way? I heard he won't stop showing off the claw marks on his back." He peered closer at Morty's nails. "They don't look that sharp to me. You must have really been going at it."

Morty's face glowed red, and he turned his gaze to the wall. "If you drop it, I'll give back the cookies."

"Deal," said Gump, eagerly retrieving the cookies and dropping back down to his own bunk.

Morty stared at the ceiling with his brow furrowed. Did people really have nothing better to do than gossip about who was fucking who? This was prison, not high school. He rolled over onto his side and did his best to focus on something other than the perpetual bubble of worry and anxiety that always seemed on the verge of bursting inside of his chest, like the irritating crunching noise resulting from the way his cellmate wouldn't stop chewing with his mouth open.

"Hey, Gump?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever wondered if you knew any of the people here?" said Morty. "Like, outside of the prison."

"Sure, all the time," said Gump. "There are entire gangs spread across this place that nobody even knows if they're in or not. You could be best friends with your worst enemy." That was a comforting thought. "Or, just as likely, you could be worst enemies with your best friend."

Oh. Morty hadn't really thought of that.

"Has that happened before?"

"Sure, plenty of times," said Gump. "There aren't too many legal avenues to get news into this place, but occasionally some enterprising soul manages to spend a few minutes on one of the office computers or a smuggled cell phone. There were these two guys way back who were about as close as two buddies can get. Total power couple. They fought together, they did drugs together, and they fucked together. A lot. When they ended up getting out at the same time on the same ship, it almost seemed like a fairytale ending. Or, well, as close as you can get to a fairytale ending in prison, anyway."

"But…?" said Morty.

"But as soon as the ship cleared the memory field, one of them suddenly realized that the other had tortured his younger brother to death, and that the whole reason he was in there was because he'd killed the other guy's sister in retaliation," said Gump. "They ended up getting into a brutal fight and killing each other only a few minutes after they got out."

"Jesus Christ!" said Morty. "For real?"

"Yep," said Gump. "That's why it's best not to get too close to anyone you suspect you might know. They could have killed your whole family, or something."

Morty felt sick to his stomach. That couldn't possibly be the case with him and Rick, right? After all, he had been put here for the sole purpose of breaking Rick out. That had to mean that they were on good terms!

Then again, Rick had said himself that he wasn't even sure if Morty had been placed here willingly or not. After all, who could tell once their memory was wiped?

"You're pretty quiet all of a sudden," said Gump. "Want a cookie?"

"I-I think I'm good, thanks," said Morty.

He and Rick weren't enemies on the outside. They couldn't be! If they were enemies, Morty wouldn't be sorta-kinda starting to like him!

Right?

 

* * *

 

Morty couldn't quite explain where this fondness for Rick had come from. In a way, it had always been there, constantly causing him to let his guard down and say things that no sane person would say to a person that he had every reason to believe was terrible and dangerous.

"Okay, here's the plan," said Rick, who'd grabbed Morty first thing in the morning to drag him back to the janitor's closet. This time, Morty was on his hands and knees while Rick fucked him from behind. He knew that he was supposed to be focusing on what Rick was telling him, but it was difficult to concentrate on anything but the massive rod being repeatedly driven in and out of his ass.

"More!" moaned Morty, eagerly swallowing up Rick's hulking length in search of a release as powerful as the one he'd experienced a day earlier. "Please, Rick!"

"Morty, I need you to listen to me!" said Rick. "I looked over the blueprints. There's a parking lot out by the kitchen for the delivery ships. We're gonna slip into the kitchen in the morning during a delivery, hijack it, and fly the fuck out of here, but to do that, there's some shit we're gonna need to take care of, first." He set the phone down on the floor and slid it towards Morty. "See those three guard towers? As soon as they figure out that something's up, they're gonna be firing on us from all angles. Lasers like the ones these bastards are armed with can take a delivery ship out in a couple of hits, so we're gonna have to make sure they aren't firing on us when we leave. We also aren't on kitchen duty, so getting in there in the first place is gonna mean bribing some assholes to sneak us inside. The delivery ship is gonna be pretty fucking slow, so I'll need some supplies to make fuel out of concentrated dark matter. Finally, we're gonna need some weapons for the whole 'hijacking' part. They're delivery truck drivers, not soldiers, so it doesn't have to be anything fancy. Honestly, a couple shivs would probably do the trick. Still, you never know when you're gonna need a semiautomatic."

Rick had lost him after 'Morty.'

"Harder, Rick!" cried Morty. "I'm so fucking close!"

"Guess I'll just explain it to you as we go," sighed Rick. "Alright, you little slut, tell me how much you love my fucking cock!"

"So much! I love it so, so much!"

After stumbling out of the closet in a giggly haze, Morty followed Rick to the mess hall without even needing to be dragged and, though he still found it a little undignified, sat on the floor beside the table without complaint. Despite not having earned an actual seat, Morty took solace in the fact that Rick had opted to let him keep his plasticware this time.

"Alright, listen up," said Rick, setting down a handful of cards for commissary credits on the table and passing them out to his cronies. "Trash block thought they could screw me out of credits and kill my new pet. We're gonna show those spineless bastards just how bad of an idea that really was. I want you guys to go get us some _real_ weapons; as good as you can get by the end of the day. We're gonna flush those fuckers like the squishy turds they are."

"Krushgor likes this plan!" said one of the gorilla aliens.

"What? Me Krushgor! You Grobnarb!" said the other gorilla alien. "You don't speak for Krushgor!"

"Grobnarb assumed Krushgor would like this plan because Grobnarb likes this plan."

"Grobnarb doesn't know if Krushgor likes this plan!"

"Okay, well, does Krushgor like this plan?"

Krushgor looked away.

"...Maybe."

"I don't give a shit if you like the plan or not!" said Rick, slamming his fist down on the table and making everyone present flinch. "The plan is the plan, and we're sticking with it. Now go!"

The others each grabbed a card and raced off to do as they were told, leaving Rick and Morty alone at the table.

"Great, that'll keep those idiots busy for the rest of the day," said Rick. "Come on, Morty. We're gonna go call in a few favors."

"What kind of favors?" said Morty, standing up to follow Rick back to the elevator.

"If you'd been paying attention earlier instead of squealing like a stuck pig, you'd know the answer," said Rick, and Morty averted his gaze.

Morty vaguely remembered some stuff about the escape plan, but… "Hold on, we're doing that now? Like, aren't we gonna wait a little bit?"

"The longer we wait, the more likely it is that something goes wrong," said Rick. "You never know when you might get called in for a random check-up, or security gets beefed up to be capable of detecting what was previously undetectable. Next thing you know, someone takes a look at your head, sees something that looks a little _unusual,_ and bam, solitary for the rest of your stay, which could be anywhere from a few months to the rest of your life."

For as undesirable an outcome as that was, Morty couldn't help but worry about what would happen if they actually got out. What if it turned out that Rick hated him? They'd only spent a little time together, but it felt like they'd known one another for far, far longer.

"Are you sure about this?" said Morty. "I mean, if something goes wrong…"

"If something goes wrong, we'll wing it," said Rick. "Just like always."

"Like always?"

"I've been winging it since I got here," clarified Rick. "Some of the other morons might think it was some grand, calculated plan to set myself up as head of the quadrant, but I'm-I'm more of an opportunist, Morty. I take them when I see them."

"Yeah," said Morty. "You're pretty good at thinking on the fly, right?"

"You're damn right I am," said Rick. "I didn't get this far in life by not knowing how to improvise."

"Well, something must have gone wrong for you to have ended up here," joked Morty.

"Shut the fuck up, Morty," said Rick, but it was almost difficult to register the words as an insult anymore. There was something about them that felt almost warm and comforting, like friendly banter.

They continued down the main hall until they reached a familiar prison block; it was the Mold block where all of the tanks for the aquatic inmates were. Morty chose to stay close to Rick as they approached the moody eel from before.

"Yo, Slips," called Rick, knocking on the tank. "How's that stuff been treating you?"

"Fucking great, Sanchez," said the eel, seeming to be in a far better mood than when he'd yelled at Morty for just about everything under the sun. "Your stuff is the fucking best! Oh, hey, if it isn't the delivery boy!" He strolled closer to them, and Morty did his best to stand his ground. "Sorry about what happened yesterday. Withdrawals are a bitch. I'm not feeling as bad after hearing about what happened afterwards, though. You planning on getting back at the squishies?"

"That's none of your God-damned business," said Rick.

"Anyway, you here for a protection payment?" said Slips. "Kind of unusual for you to come collect it in person."

"I've got an offer for you," said Rick. "You're a pretty good pickpocket, right?"

"Pretty good?" said Slips. "Ouch. For your information, I'm more than just 'pretty good.' I'm the best."

"So how'd you get caught?" said Morty before he could stop himself.

"Oh, _oh!"_ said Slips. "So the little pet survives one fight, and now he's suddenly a big tough guy, huh?" Morty mentally kicked himself. "It's about time you grew a pair. You won't make it in here without one."

With any luck, Morty wouldn't have to make it in there for much longer, but he refrained from saying as much.

"Look, the point is, I need you to do it in reverse," said Rick. He pulled a handful of spheres out of his pocket. "Think you can slip these into a couple officers' pockets, no questions asked?"

"Hmm, guards? That's a tall order," said Slips. "Maybe a little too tall for a few grams of meth." He looked at Morty. "How about a turn with your pet, there? You seemed pretty satisfied with him the other day."

Morty took several steps back. No way.

"How far are we talking?" said Rick.

_"Rick!"_

"Okay, okay," said Rick. "The kids off-limits."

"Wow," said Slips. "I don't think I've ever seen you back down so quickly just 'cause your pet barked at you. You going soft, Sanchez?"

By the time the eel reached the end of the word 'Sanchez,' Rick already had what appeared to be a piece of glass taped to a stick at his throat.

"You wanna try asking that again?"

"Nope," said Slips. "But for real, I'm gonna need some kind of payment."

"If you do it, Rick'll give you five grams a week for no charge for the next two weeks, and then half charge from now until the end of his sentence," said Morty, much to Rick's poorly-concealed surprise.

"Wait, seriously?" said Slips, sounding surprised. "What's the catch?"

"All I'm asking is that you slip these into the pockets of every guard on tower duty tomorrow," said Rick, quick to compose himself and go along with it. "Think you can do that?"

"I don't think, buddy. I know," said Slips, taking the spheres. "Not so sure I can resist asking a few questions, though. Why the guards on tower duty?"

"Trying to smuggle something big through," said Rick. "That's all you need to know."

"Oh man, this is gonna be a real spectacle, isn't it?" said Slips, sounding excited. "Pleasure doing business with you!"

As they left the block, Morty couldn't help but comment on the situation.

"That was pretty cold of you, Morty," said Rick, but he sounded impressed. "I didn't think you had it in you."

"You could have told me to shut up whenever you wanted and given him different terms if you felt so bad about it," said Morty, still a little resentful of the eel for terrifying him earlier.

"What can I say? I'm not a nice guy," said Rick.

"You were pretty nice to me," said Morty. "You-you-you could have had me fuck him, but you didn't."

"And let him get his grubby little flippers all over my property?" said Rick, gagging. "That guy's probably got more STDs than you can count on both hands."

Oh. Morty did his best not to look too disappointed by Rick's line of reasoning.

"Where to next?"

"Next stop is gonna be a little less friendly," said Rick. "You still got that box cutter?"

Morty swallowed and gripped the bladed object in his pocket. "Yeah."

"Get ready to use it," said Rick.

The next place they entered wasn't a cell block at all. The set-up of the various floors was somewhat similar, almost like it had originally been designed with that in mind, but rather than cells along the walls, it appeared to instead have various rooms dedicated to recreation. The first floor was dedicated entirely to various exercise devices, many of which were completely unusable to Morty due to being designed with alien bodies in mind, and others of which he supposed a human might be able to use if he only knew how.

He and Rick took the elevator to the second floor, which was some sort of library where each room corresponded to a different genre. Rick took a quick look around, then made a beeline for the non-fiction section.

"The guy we're meeting next, Blorg, is capable of secreting different elements from the folds of his skin depending on what he's eaten, Morty," said Rick. "He's the source of almost all the drugs in this prison. The staff keep him on a special pill to limit the secretions, which is why he's so grumpy and bloated all the time." He passed Morty three corked vials. "His kind is completely deaf and can't feel pain in those flaps, but trust me, they're way faster than they look. If he catches you stealing from him, well…"

As they approached the non-fiction section, Morty could immediately see what Rick was talking about. A massive, blob-like creature about three times as tall as Rick and much wider than he was tall appeared to be reading in the corner. Every so often, he would turn around to look behind him with beady little eyes.

Morty watched with bile fascination as another inmate went from nonchalantly reading in the corner to slowly scooting closer to the blob with a knife in one hand and a cup in the other. Shockingly, the inmate managed to plunge the blade into one of the creature's flaps without being immediately noticed, then held the cup under the wound to collect the fluids that dripped out.

All of a sudden, without warning, the blob creature turned around. The inmate barely had time to look terrified before a gaping maw opened up to swallow him whole.

"Oh my God," said Morty. "I thought you said he couldn't feel pain!"

"He can't, but when people are constantly trying to stab you for your blocked-up miracle juices, you learn to be on pretty high alert. It's the whole reason he hangs out in the non-fiction section. Almost nobody comes in here except to steal from him," said Rick. "I'm gonna try and distract him by acting suspicious without actually getting too close. You're gonna go in from behind and collect the fluids from the top left flap, the middle right flap, and the bottom right flap. Got it? Top left, middle right, bottom right."

"Do I have to?" said Morty, grimacing. This was even worse than sitting in an elevator full of his own piss! He felt like he was gonna be sick just looking at that pitiful creature, let alone getting close enough to cut it open.

"Yes."

"Oh geez," said Morty, sliding the vials into his pocket and doing his best to look like he was just trying to pick out a book from the shelf. This was despite the fact that he could only understand maybe a fraction of the options, none of which were particularly appealing. Whoever was in charge of picking out books for the prison library had clearly been relying heavily on mass donations of unsold books, or something, because Morty couldn't imagine who in their right mind would want to real _'Prickledorp: The Story of the Man Who Invented Caps That Unscrew Clockwise Instead of Counter-Clockwise.'_

Rick, who'd kept a blade and vial pretty visible in his back pocket, had moved in to draw Blorg's attention. It was working like a charm so far. Blorg was focusing on him intently, making it easy for Morty to tiptoe closer. Deaf or not, he couldn't help but step lightly when he was sneaking around. Force of habit, and all.

He took a deep breath to steady his nerves. This looked pretty gross, but at least it didn't smell gross, so that was a positive. He raised his blade upwards, gripping it tightly so as to not accidentally drop it. First things first; he had to open up the top left.

_Sssssshlick!_

The soft, wet noise of the blade through squishy white flesh had Morty doing his best not to cringe as liquid dribbled out of the wound. He held the vial beneath it until it was full, then popped the cork back in and scooted a little to the right for the next one.

The middle right was next. Morty brought the blade close only to jerk back when Blorg started to move. He wasn't turning around, though; on the contrary, he was moving forward, closer to Rick, who'd turned his back on the creature to pretend that he, too, was interested in the books.

Morty's eyes widened. Why would it be going _towards_ someone who was making it so obvious that they intended to steal its fluids? Unless…

Unless it was trying to strike _preemptively._

"Rick!" whispered Morty. No response. "Rick!" he said again, a little louder. Still nothing. "Rick, he's coming up behind you!"

At last, Rick whipped his head around, but by then it was too late to get away. As the creature's jaw began to unhinge, Morty seized one of its flaps and yanked, a sensation that it finally seemed to register. As it began turning to face the Morty, who hadn't really thought this plan through, Rick jumped onto its back and began scrambling to its head with the speed and agility of a squirrel climbing a tree.

Morty cried out as Blorg's mouth closed around his upper body only to snap back open in a furious roar before its teeth met his waist. When he looked up to see what had caused it to abandon its attack, Morty saw Rick at its head, repeatedly stabbing it in one eye.

"The fluids, Morty!" barked Rick. "Get the fluids!"

Morty wasted no time in hurrying around to the creature's back to carve open the middle-right flap of the creature's back. With their cover blown, he squeezed the flap to hurry the dripping along. With another vial full, he put it away and crouched down to get the bottom right flap, but Blorg had taken to shaking and spinning around too much to make the cut.

"Hold him still!" said Morty.

"Oh, great idea, Morty!" said Rick sarcastically. "I'll just use my giant legs for leverage and my big, beefy arms to-"

The creature spun around to face Morty again, staring into his soul with its one remaining inky black eye.

"...Rick?" squeaked Morty right before its jaws closed around him, gobbling him up whole.

From within the creature's mouth, Morty could still feel the creature jerking around in an attempt to get Rick off of its back. There was a rapid series of muffled stabbing noises that Morty could only assume were the result of Rick decimating its other eye, but he couldn't check to confirm; he couldn't see anything but darkness.

Visibility was poor, but Morty could still feel what was going on. It was wet and hot, and not in a good way. He grunted as muscles contracted around him, dragging him head-first down its throat. He tried to go for his box cutter, but his arms were trapped at his sides. Unlike the movies, it wasn't just a straight drop down into the stomach; everything was unpleasantly tight, and it didn't take long to run out of air as the muscles closed up behind him, pushing him downwards like someone trying to squeeze toothpaste out of an almost-empty tube.

He was helpless, he realized. Assuming the stomach acid didn't kill him, he would still suffocate. His lungs were already screaming for air. He wasn't even gonna be able to see his life flashing before his eyes before he died because he couldn't remember it!

Before he could come to terms with his impending demise, he felt Blorg collapse on the ground. After a few more moments, something grabbed at his ankle. What would ordinarily be a terrifying sensation not out of place in a horror story was instead a welcome relief as he was dragged back upwards and out of the creature's mouth.

As he dropped to the solid floor, still covered in saliva, he stared up at Rick with the sort of reverence and gratitude one might show a deity. He took a moment to finish gasping for breath before speaking.

"You-you saved me," said Morty, starry-eyed. The blood that Rick was covered with only served to make him look like an even bigger, more imposing figure than he already was. Maybe it was just the adrenaline, but he had half a mind to bend himself over Blorg's massive corpse and beg to be fucked right then and there.

"You had the other vials," said Rick, grabbing the empty one Morty had forgotten that he'd been clutching in his hand and walking around to carve open the last flap and shattering Morty's fantasies. "Now let's hurry up and get out of here before someone comes by and realizes that we're the ones that killed off their primary source of drugs! We've been getting lucky so far since almost no one ever comes in here, but eventually someone else is gonna want to try giving it a go."

"What about the cameras?" said Morty, scrambling to his feet.

"This prison's too big for them to be constantly watching every camera live; that's why it's usually safe to keep contraband in your own cell. Places like the main halls and janitor's closet are high-traffic areas, but not here," explained Rick. "They won't go back through the camera footage until they find the body and figure out that he's been murdered."

"Isn't that pretty obvious?" said Morty, looking down at Blorg's cleanly-sliced jugular.

"The guards only check up on this room a few times a week," said Rick. "And the inmates here- They won't report anything to them, Morty. We'll be good for a couple of days, at least. By the time they figure it out, we'll be long gone. Now pull your pants down and bend over."

For a moment, Morty was excited. He complied with the order just a little too quickly, pressing his hands against the wall and licking his lips.

Rick slid the filled vials one by one into his ass.

"Good to know you're enthusiastic," said Rick. Morty tried not to look too disappointed as he pulled his pants back up. "Now come on, we've got one stop left."

Their final stop, as it turned out, was back in the Maggot block at one of the cells on the lower floor. Morty recognized the person inside; it was one of the cafeteria workers. More specifically, it was the one Rick had forced to go buy him something from the commissary.

"What's up, Vorgrill?" said Rick, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorframe.

Vorgrill, who appeared to have been chatting with his cellmate, immediately froze like a deer in the headlights.

"Oh, hey, Rick!" said Vorgrill nervously. "What, uh, what brings you here?"

"I need a favor," said Rick. "Morty and I have a 'pick-up' to make tomorrow that's being sent through one of your delivery trucks. You're gonna get us into your kitchen first thing in the morning so we can get it."

"What? Why?" said Vorgrill. "If you just need something picked up, I can-"

"It's for my hands only," said Rick. "Got it?"

"Then why bring _him_ along?" said Vorgrill, gesturing to Morty.

Morty frowned. Even if Vorgrill didn't understand their actual intentions, it was a good question. Why _was_ Rick bringing him along on this escape and nobody else?

"He's my personal prison wallet," said Rick.

"Prison wallet?" repeated Morty.

"He means he's gonna smuggle it back in your ass, kid," sighed Vorgrill, and Morty wasn't sure whether he should cover his face with embarrassment or snicker childishly at the absurdity of the terminology. "Look, the cells of kitchen staff open up earlier than yours so we have time to cook and do prep work. You'll be stuck in your cells until mealtime starts."

"Then _make_ us kitchen staff," said Rick.

"Wait, what?" said Vorgrill. "I can't just make you staff. There aren't any openings!"

Rick strolled forward, prompting Vorgrill to shrink back.

"Then _make. Openings."_

"You want me to fire people just so you two can make one pick-up?" said Vorgrill.

"Either _you_ make the openings, or _I_ will," said Rick, flashing the shiv in his pocket. "What's it gonna be?"

At last, Vorgrill relented.

"Fine. I'll go take care of it," he said, standing up. He grumbled to himself as he walked by, occasionally glancing back with eyes full of hate.

"Well, that takes care of that," said Rick. "All we've gotta do is get back to my cell so I can take a few things out of my _wallet."_

Morty shuffled after him with his eyes fixed firmly on the ground for the next few minutes until they reached their final stop of the day.

"Good boy," said Rick. "You know the drill by now. Come on."

Morty bent over and carefully pushed the vials back out, fearful of letting them break inside of him and not only invalidating all of their hard work, but leaving his ass full of glass shards.

"You didn't do as bad as I thought you would today," said Rick. Coming from him, that was high praise.

"Yeah. We-we make a pretty good team, huh?" said Morty.

"Hey, don't start getting cocky just 'cause you got a couple wins in," said Rick, observing the vials. "Now, I've got some work to do with this, so I'm gonna need you to keep yourself out of my hair for the next few hours."

"Okay," said Morty, about to turn to go when a nagging question from earlier popped back into his head. "Hey, Rick?"

"Mm?"

"Why are you-" began Morty, only to hesitate. He had to word this carefully in case anyone was listening in, right? _"-including_ me in all this?"

"A couple reasons, actually," said Rick. "First, since you were the one to bring me what I needed, I couldn't exactly keep it a secret from you, and I can't have you blabbing to the guards. I could just kill you, but you're pretty decent at following orders, and it's nice to have a second set of hands."

Morty grimaced. "Oh."

"And, reason number three," said Rick, grabbing Morty by the shirt and yanking him close. "You're kind of cute."

He pressed his lips to the blushing Morty's cheek, only to quickly jerk back and gag.

"Ugh, I forgot you were covered in dried-up saliva," he groaned. "Go take a shower."

"Oh!" said Morty, still a little flustered. "Right!"

As he hurried back down the hallway, he couldn't help but clutch his cheek where Rick's lips had been. Rick thought he was cute. He'd already sort of known that, given the whole 'using him for sex' thing, but hearing it said in that context had him feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. For a little while, he'd been a little worried that perhaps he and Rick had been enemies on the outside, but that couldn't possibly be right! Not when they worked so well together! If they did know one another out there, it had to be as companions; maybe they were members of the same gang. Morty smiled. Wouldn't it be funny to get his memories back and realize that they were a couple, or something?

Morty frowned. There was that feeling again, telling him how wrong this all was. Why? Was it because Rick was a criminal? Well, so was he! He hadn't felt bad at all about stabbing or killing people since he'd arrived. Sure, they'd started it, but most normal people would have at least felt a twinge of _something._ He was totally desensitized to violence. This was normal for him. Uhg, if only he could remember! This stupid prison…

Prison…

Rick in prison…

Rick escaping prison...

_There were so many voices, all of them ripping him apart for his stupidity. He was a moron. An idiot. A screw-up. He'd known they should have left Rick alone. If they'd just left that asshole buried in the yard, none of this would be happening right now. Instead, he was here, gun at the ready, listening to the man he'd been so convinced he was finally rid of chew him out for his foolishness._

_That man…_

_He HATED that man! Hate, hate, HATE-_

_He pulled the trigger, and Rick Sanchez dropped to the floor._

_"WhO's StUpId NoW, bItCh?"_

The resulting headache was enough to send Morty tumbling to the ground.

"H-holy shit," he said quietly.

He'd _shot_ him out there. He wasn't sure when, and he wasn't sure why, but for one reason or another, he'd attempted to _kill_ Rick Sanchez.


	4. Mistakes Were Made

Morty slept poorly that night, bouncing in and out of sleep every other hour. He groaned, bleary-eyed, as the door of his cell opened two hours early, playing a shrill, yet localized beep that woke him and Gump without annoying the other sleeping inmates.

"What?" groaned Gump. "It's so early!"

"Sorry," said Morty, climbing out of bed and dressing himself. "I forgot to tell you that I'm on kitchen duty now. You can stay in bed."

"Oh," said Gump, clearly too tired to question it. "Whatever. Have fun."

It was strange walking out into the dimly-lit block when it was this empty. He hadn't expected to grow acclimated to the environment so quickly, but considering it was the only environment that he could remember, it sort of made sense.

"Morning, Rick," yawned Morty as he reached the elevator.

He wasn't surprised to see Rick already looking wide awake. Morning people were all crazy by definition, as far as he was concerned, so it seemed fitting.

"Hold on a second, Morty," said Rick, grabbing Morty by the shirt to drag back to his cell. For all his genius, the concept of beckoning or simply asking a person to follow seemed to be beyond him. He pushed the shelf off to the side to open up a panel beneath it where a handful of things appeared to be stored; a bag of hooch, some tools, wires, and other pieces of assorted contraband. He picked up a narrow, opaque container and passed it to Morty.

"You know the drill," said Rick.

"Yeah, yeah," said Morty, pulling down his pants to ease it into his asshole.

"I used the sturdiest container I had, but you clench like a fucking vice, so try not to break it. Concentrated dark matter isn't the sort of shit you want swishing around your intestines," said Rick. "And if that's not enough to convince you, just remember that if we lose that, this whole thing falls apart, and you'll spend the rest of your life in solitary confinement."

"You convinced me the first time. Jesus," said Morty. "I get it. Don't break the thing."

"Don't forget this," said Rick, retrieving an incredibly small device that looked more like a children's squirt-gun than a proper weapon. "Small enough to fit in your pocket, but powerful enough to kill a man. You've only got six shots, so don't waste them. Keep that box cutter handy just in case. Don't do anything until my signal."

"What signal?"

"I'm- It isn't a _signal_ signal," said Rick. "Look, saying 'wait for the signal' just sounds better than 'wait until I start some shit,' okay?"

Morty checked to make sure the safety was on, then slid the weapon into his pocket. Holding the gun was enough to wake him up and remind him that, oh shit, they were actually doing this.

As they stepped out of the elevator at the bottom floor, they found Vorgrill waiting for them.

"I hope this is worth it for you," grumbled Vorgrill. "I had to fire two perfectly serviceable chefs to get you in, and for what? What am I getting out of this?"

"I'll get you some commissary credits afterwards," said Rick. "Now quit your bitching and take us to the delivery truck."

They followed Vorgrill down the empty hallway back to the kitchen in silence. The cafeteria, usually bustling with activity, was a complete ghost town, but at least it was more brightly lit than the bunks, making it easier to stay awake.

"The drop-off area is this way," said Vorgrill, guiding them out of the open cafeteria and into the back kitchen. It was significantly smaller than the dining portion, but still positively massive in order to play host to enough workers to feed an entire quadrant's worth of inmates.

The drop off area was also quite spacious. It felt almost like a warehouse. A few delivery folk accompanied by guards were wheeling crate after crate through something that reminded Morty of a TSA checkpoint at the airport complete with a full body scanner and an x-ray machine for the contents of the containers.

A guard approached Vorgrill.

"Are these the ones?" asked the guard.

Rick's eyes narrowed as Vorgrill nodded.

"Yeah, these are the ones who told me to get them on kitchen duty so they could smuggle something in!" confirmed Vorgrill. Morty's jaw dropped.

"I see," said the guard, pulling out his electrified baton and turning to Rick and Morty. "You two! On the ground, face-down!"

"You fucking _snitch!"_ growled Rick, slowly dropping to his knees. Morty followed his lead.

"Have fun in solitary, Sanchez!" cackled Vorgrill. "I can't wait to see the look on everyone's faces when they find out that I, Vorgrill, was the one to take you out of the game for good!"

"For good?" said Morty. "They wouldn't put us in solitary forever over smuggling something in, right?"

"Not for smuggling, no," said the guard. "But Vorgrill here told us that he saw you murder another inmate in the library while he was looking through the non-fiction section for new recipes. If the footage checks out, you two will be lucky if you don't end up there for the rest of your natural lives."

"It's now or never, Morty," said Rick, reaching for his pocket and whipping out his gun. "Die, shitnuggets!"

He fired off two blasts that went straight through the hearts of the shocked guards, then followed it up with another through the head of the one manning the checkpoint. Morty, recognizing that they were well past the point of no return, reluctantly took aim at the rightfully terrified delivery guys.

"Woah, woah, _woah!"_ said one of the delivery men. "If you want the food so bad, just take it! Please don't shoot!"

"I-I-I will if you don't do exactly what I say!" shouted Morty, raising his voice in an attempt sound more confident than he felt.

"Where do you think you're going?" said Rick, grabbing Vorgrill by one of his tentacles before he could flee. "You know what happens to snitches?"

"You know," said Vorgrill, laughing nervously. "The phrase 'snitches get stitches' implies that the snitch lives, since you don't give a dead person stitches!"

"That's right," said Rick. "Unfortunately for you, I was never very good at following other people's directions."

Vorgrill screamed as Rick plunged his shiv into his head and dragged it downwards, slicing him apart and dousing himself with a mixture of black ink and bright red blood.

"Did you _really_ have to kill him?" said Morty.

"Nobody betrays me and lives to tell about it," said Rick. "Besides, he was just gonna go alert another guard and get this whole prison put on lockdown if I didn't."

A shrill alarm pierced through the silence.

_"Alert! Alert! The vital monitors of one or more corrections officers have reported cessation of bodily functions. The prison is now under lockdown. All inmates are to lay face-down on the ground with their object-manipulating appendages behind their heads."_

"So much for that!" said Morty.

"No time to dwell on people we may or may not have had to murder, Morty!" said Rick, grabbing one of the delivery people by the neck and dragging him through the metal detector and to the door. "Grab a hostage!"

Morty sighed, then tapped the delivery man in front of him with his gun. "Sorry about this. I-I'd give you a tip, or something, but I don't know if the outside world takes commissary credits."

"Eh," said the delivery guy. "I dealt with worse when I was delivering pizza. Actually, if you could graze my shoulder with one of those bullets so I can get worker's compensation, that'd be a huge help."

Morty pulled out his box cutter and sliced the man's arm just enough to draw blood.

"Oww!" said the delivery guy, looking thoroughly appeased. "Thanks!"

Rick grabbed a key card from one of the guards' corpses and touched it to the scanner.

 _"Error!"_ said the scanner. _"This officer is deceased!"_

"Looks like I'm gonna have to hack it," said Rick. "Hold on!"

Rick shot the scanning device with his gun, and it swung open.

"Really?" said Morty. _"Really?"_

"The word 'hack' can also mean to break something," said Rick. "Not my fault you assumed I meant the technical version."

"Actually, I'm pretty sure 'hack' in that context necessitates destroying something with a blow from fists or a blade," said Rick's hostage. "Shooting something isn't really hacking it apa-"

Rick shot him mid-sentence.

 _"Rick!"_ said Morty. "That was our hostage!"

"We've still got the other one," said Rick, gesturing to the one Morty had stabbed.

"Yeah, you've still got me," agreed their remaining hostage. "Thanks for killing him, by the way. That guy was an asshole."

"No problem," said Rick, pulling a remote with a single button on it out of his pocket. "And now it's time to put the princesses in their towers to sleep."

He hit the switch.

Morty poked his head out the door. The fresh outdoor air filled his lungs with its intoxicating aroma, and it was a struggle not to make the mistake of immediately racing outside like a kid on summer vacation. The sun seemed so much brighter after all that time spent indoors. Even the cracked pavement with little tufts of blue alien grass was a welcome sight.

Panicked screams rang out through the open air, and he looked up to see purple smoke billowing out of the three sniper towers.

"In open air like this, that's only gonna keep them knocked out for a few minutes," said Rick. "Go, go, go!"

Morty shoved their hostage outside where the delivery ship sat in wait. It was a boxy, slow-looking thing that looked to be on the verge of falling apart any minute, but it was their only chance to get off-planet, making it their best option by default.

Unfortunately, it seemed the snipers weren't the only guards that they had to worry about.

"There they are!" screamed a guard on the ground. "Fire!"

A hail of laser bullets hailed down upon them like sideways rain. There was no cover from the door to the ship, so Morty guiltily took shelter behind his hostage.

"Sorry about this," said Morty, holding the delivery man by the back of the shirt to ward off gunfire from one side. He poked his head out from behind just long enough to fire off three shots, each of which tore through a guard's torso.

"Eh, don't worry about it. Honestly, if they kill me, you'll just be doing me a favor," said the delivery man.

"Jesus," said Morty. That was dark. "Are, uh, are you okay?"

"Nope," said the delivery man. "See, it all started when I was six years old and my dad went out to buy a carton of-"

A laser struck the delivery man in the forehead mid-speech, killing him instantly and dousing Morty in blood. Morty grunted as the body ceased to support itself, leaving him to carry all of the weight. It was tempting to drop it, but it was actually doing a decent job absorbing bullets, so he continued to drag it along and hold it in front of him like a meat shield.

"Good idea, Morty!" said Rick, hurrying back inside to grab the body of the one he'd killed for correcting his grammar.

Just like that, they traversed the blacktop back-to-back, each holding a corpse out in front of them to soak up the bullets threatening to turn their bodies into Swiss cheese. They weren't the sturdiest shields, but fortunately, the guards seemed to have taken shooting lessons from Stormtroopers, because most of their shots were conveniently missing.

"God damn it, why are we so bad at this?" screamed one of the guards.

"I know, right?" agreed another. "It's almost like we're only firing so many shots because this much gunfire makes for a cooler visual!"

"Don't forget that it also adds artificial tension to what might otherwise be a leisurely walk to their destination!" said the first guard.

"It could also have something to do with the fact that corrections officers like us have a high rate of depression and suicide compared to the general population, and at least half of us are secretly drinking on the job to cope with the soul-crushing nature of our positions," suggested a third.

Morty fired off three more bullets, striking the chatty guards down one after the other.

"Good aim, Morty!" said Rick as they approached the ship. He fished through the pocket of the corpse he was holding to retrieve the keys, then hit a button that caused a door on it to open and a ramp to lower. "Now come on!"

They hurried backwards onto the ship, dumping the bodies outside just before the doors closed. The sound of sirens continued to blare in the background, and Morty knew it wouldn't be long before sturdier, more combat-capable ships arrived to take them down.

"Morty, the concentrated dark matter!" said Rick.

"Right!" said Morty, yanking his pants down and tugging the container out of his ass to hand to Rick. He wondered if it was a bad sign that he'd already grown used to hiding things in there at Rick's behest.

"Great, it's not broken," said Rick. "Can you pilot a ship?"

Morty stared down at the controls. They were intimidating, but not altogether unfamiliar. He threw himself into the pilot's seat and powered it on with the keys that had been conveniently left in the ignition. "I think so!"

"Good," said Rick, grabbing a panel at the back and yanking it open to reveal a bunch of mechanical bits that vaguely resembled some kind of sci-fi engine. "I'm gonna need you to do some evasive maneuvers while I make a few adjustments to allow the ship to run on the new fuel!"

"You're gonna make adjustments to the engine _while we're using it?"_

"What? No, that's ridiculous," said Rick. "I can't play around with plugs while the ship is running!"

As various security ships with flashing sirens began racing towards them, Morty hauled ass off of the ground and launched them into the air, slamming his foot on the gas and sending the now-visible motor into overdrive behind them.

"So what-what-what are we gonna do?" asked Morty.

"I need you to get high enough to cut the engines to give me enough time to change a few plugs around, then power the ship back on before we hit the ground," said Rick.

"Wait, _what?"_ screeched Morty, making the mistake of looking back at Rick with a stare of shock and disbelief only to have to do a last minute swerve to avoid hitting one of the guard towers. "Are you insane?"

"Morty, that's a stupid question. An insane person isn't going to answer 'yes' if they're too out of it to _know_ that they're insane," said Rick. "Also, not cool using the word 'insane' as an insult."

"Are you seriously telling me off for- You shot someone for correcting your grammar!"

"See, I normally wouldn't care if it were somebody else calling _me_ out on it, but in case you haven't noticed, I don't get to claim the moral high ground a whole lot," said Rick, taking a sip out of a plastic bag full of hooch that he'd apparently determined was important enough to bring with him on their daring escape. "I've gotta-gotta take these opportunities where I can get 'em, especially since we're guaranteed to die if you don't start flying higher."

With an incoming missile coming at them from the side, Morty pulled into a wingover to change directions by climbing upwards, turning the ship onto its side, then back down into the opposite direction.

"We-we-we're almost _definitely_ gonna die if we follow your plan!" said Morty. The ship they were in was a piece of crap with no wings or other such mechanisms to glide with in the event that the engines failed; it had probably been designed for deliveries between space stations where gravity wasn't a concern, then repurposed for ground deliveries after being bought for cheap. "Once I cut the engines, we'll be in a complete free-fall!"

"I'm not trying to argue that this is remotely safe," said Rick flatly. "I'm telling you that, after all the people we killed to get here, our options are either _definite_ death from getting shot or executed, or _probable_ death from cracking open on the ground like an egg. Now, I know that to your underdeveloped brain, that might be a complicated decision, but I promise that to anyone with even a basic knowledge of probability and statistics, it's _really_ fucking obvious!"

"Why can't we just go far enough into space that we don't have to worry about gravity?" screamed Morty, barrel-rolling out of the way of another missile. Were it not for the artificial gravity within the ship, Rick, who was still standing up behind him, would have been sent flying.

"This ship isn't powerful enough to get a good momentum going before we cut the engines in space, Morty! We'll be stuck piddling along in one direction until a missile hit us!" said Rick. "If we cut the engines within the planet's gravitational pull, they'll never see it coming, and the speed of the fall might keep us out of reach of missiles long enough for me to switch power sources!"

_"Might?"_

"How many times do I have to go over the difference between _'might_ die' and _'will_ die' with you?" said Rick. "Now _climb,_ stupid!"

And so, Morty climbed. He screamed in complete and utter terror the whole time, but he kept on going, higher and higher, until at last Rick spoke up again:

"Okay, that's enough! Cut the engines!"

"Oh shit, oh shit!" breathed Morty, gritting his teeth and turning the keys.

The whole ship went silent. For a moment, as the ship's ascent slowed, it was almost like they were floating. The false gravity mechanism, apparently tied to the ship's engine, ceased to keep them tethered to the ground, and Morty quickly buckled in in the split second before they began to fall. In the rear-view mirror, he could see the seatless Rick preparing himself by readying a stowed wrench in his dominant hand, the container of concentrated dark matter in the other, and clutching the engine between his knees like a bull rider.

They fell. Slowly, at first, then faster, and faster, and _faster,_ until they hit terminal velocity. Even Rick couldn't seem to hold back a scream of panicked determination as he worked, tossing unwanted mechanisms behind him that immediately went flying into the ceiling. With the dashboard lights all off, it was impossible to tell their exact distance from the ground, but Morty found himself able to draw upon previous, if unknown experience in order to make an educated guess.

"It looks like about forty- no, thirty seconds to impact!" screeched Morty. There was a loud _crash_ as a missile struck the side of the ship. Oxygen masks descended from the ceiling only to go flying out of reach as the impact sent them spinning out of control.

"Don't give me numbers when I'm trying to keep a cool head!" snapped Rick right back at him.

"We're not gonna be able to pull up in time!" said Morty.

"Just a few more…" murmured Rick, sliding the container into place.

Click!

"There! Power it back on!"

Morty turned the keys, and the vehicle sputtered like it was struggling to start, because of course it did. Just when Morty was beginning to wish he'd stayed in prison long enough to get those nifty brown pants instead of the bright orange ones he was currently wearing, however, the vehicle whirred to life, and he yanked the wheel back to pull it back upwards and out of its crocodile-like death roll.

The ship straightened out, rocketing forward at such incredible speeds that for a moment, Morty wondered if it was all going to be for naught. Instinct took over as he wove through the guard towers. Rick threw himself into the seat beside him.

"We did it!" said Rick. "Pull up so we can get the fuck out of here!"

At first, Morty begin to pull up, at least enough to clear the tops of the towers. As they approached the upper atmosphere, however, Gump's words echoed in his head:

_"You could be worst enemies with your best friend."_

Morty dove back downwards.

"What-" said Rick, clearly flabbergasted. _"What the fuck are you doing?"_

"Rick, what if-"

"God damn it, _I'll_ drive!" growled Rick, unbuckling Morty and forcibly yanking him out of the seat to take his place. The ship wobbled and spun as it changed drivers mid-flight. Before he could take off into the stars, however, Morty grabbed at the steering wheel.

"No!" said Morty, panicked, yanking the wheel to the left. "Rick, I-"

"Get off!" barked Rick, pulling it back to the right. The constant back-and-forth had them in a zig-zag, rising and falling in an erratic fashion. "I'm not gonna let you kill us!"

"Rick, I-I-I think I like you!" said Morty at last.

"Morty, I know people get stupid when they think they're about to die, but we can _live_ and get _out_ of here if you _just fucking-"_

"Listen to me!" said Morty. "When I'm with you, even when you're scary, I just- I feel _comfortable._ When we were running around getting shit to escape with, everything felt so _right,_ like this is just- like it's the way it was meant to be! Just us two, together, running around and doing crazy shit!"

"Morty, you met me _three days ago!"_ Rick reminded him. "You're scared and panicked! Now let go of the wheel and-"

"I know you feel it, too!" said Morty, wrapping his arms around Rick in a hug while simultaneously straining to keep the wheel steady by gripping the old man's wrists. "That's why you carried me to the clinic to fix my leg! That's-that's why you got me nice things, didn't let that eel guy fuck me, took me along with you on this escape instead of someone stronger or-or with a bigger anal cavity, and saved my life from that weird blob thing in the library!" He squeezed Rick tighter. "There's something connecting us that even this stupid memory field can't erase! We knew each other outside of this prison!"

"No fucking shit, we knew each other!" said Rick, notably refusing to address anything prior to that. "My name was written on your fucking arm!"

"But what if it was in a bad way?" cried Morty. "What if I'm not breaking you out for a good reason? What if we're from rival gangs, and the one I'm from just wants to torture you for information or whatever? What if it turns out that it's all some elaborate revenge plot, or-or-or-"

At last, Rick kicked him off, sending Morty flying back into his seat.

"So what if it is?" said Rick. "Maybe I killed someone you love. Your whole family, even. I could be in here for single-handedly ruining your entire life! What about it? Are you really gonna stay here and die just 'cause you're afraid to face that possibility?"

Morty closed his eyes and shook his head.

"I don't remember my family," said Morty slowly, feeling oddly at peace even with the sound of explosions ringing out in the background. "I don't remember how much I love them, or-or how much they mean to me… The only person in my heart right now is _you,_ Rick! You're the person I love most in the world. No matter how much it turns out I actually hate you, I won't ever forget how I felt right now, in this moment. I don't _want_ to forget. And-and if you _did_ do something bad to me, and-and I can find it in me to forgive you…"

He took Rick's hand.

"Would you love me back?" he finished at last.

Rick took a deep breath.

"What, we-we aren't even gonna _consider_ the possibility that maybe you fucked me over?" he mused.

Morty's eyes widened. He _hadn't_ considered that, actually. "I, umm..."

"I'm kidding," said Rick. "Pfffft, as if a person like me could ever be beaten by a dumbass like you!"

"Rick, seriously!" said Morty. "I-"

Rick silenced him with a kiss. It wasn't a long, passionate, drawn-out affair, seeing as they were still in the process of narrowly-evading lasers and missiles, but it certainly got the message across.

"No matter how much I might hate you out there, there's no way I can look at you as a target or an enemy or whatever after all those cute faces you made for me while I fucked you," said Rick, and Morty's cheeks lit up like Christmas lights. He squeezed the hand that Morty was holding. "Whatever we were out there, there's no turning back from this, Morty, got it? You're mine now, and if you can't forgive me, I'm just gonna kidnap you until you get Stockholm Syndrome and fall for me all over again."

To anyone else, Morty knew that would be a horrible threat, but to him, it was one of the sweetest things anyone had ever said to him. (That he could remember, anyway.)

"Yeah," said Morty, nodding.

"Rick and Morty forever?" said Rick.

"Forever and ever," said Morty. "All- For a hundred years."

"Pfffft, a hundred years? What-what-what's that supposed to mean?" snickered Rick.

"I don't know, it just sounded right!"

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," said Rick, pulling back on the steering wheel once more, uncontested by Morty.

As the ship rocketed upwards and out of the atmosphere, the two of them continued to hold hands. A shimmering force field encompassing the entire planet drew closer with every passing second.

"There it is," said Morty. "Our memories."

"Morty, the memories aren't stored _inside_ the force field, they're-" began Rick, only to roll his eyes. "Fuck it, never mind. Get ready!"

As they passed through the field, it was like a fog being lifted from his brain. The faded memories, which had previously been as hazy as low-resolution photographs put through a mosaic filter, were suddenly crystal clear. Morty remembered who he was. He remembered his family. He had a sister! A mother! A father! A-

A _grandfather._

The blood drained from his face. He could feel Rick's grip on his hand unconsciously tighten until it physically pained him, and he slowly turned to see his grandfather staring past him. As the ship continued to race out of reach of the guards, Rick's expression rapidly shifted from confusion to horror, then fear and frustration. After a moment of processing time, he dropped Morty's hand like a hot potato and slammed it back on the wheel, whereupon he refocused his gaze ahead of him with the empty, lifeless eyes of a zombie.

For several minutes, there was silence between them. Morty placed his hands on his knees and stared down at his feet as Rick drove, not sure what to think or feel. His memories had returned, but his mind had gone blank, still struggling to process exactly what had happened.

"Rick," said Morty softly. Rick didn't respond, so he raised his voice. "Rick!"

"Not now, Morty."

The voice that Rick answered him with was not his own. In all the years that they'd known one another, Rick had never sounded so dead inside. Depressed, sure, but always _apathetic_ -depressed, or _angry_ -depressed. Never like this, weak and hollow and _broken._

"We, uh, we got out," said Morty. "That was pretty great, huh, Rick? We-we did it, just like always!"

No response.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. When he'd first set out on this mission to rescue Rick from prison after an adventure gone awry, Morty had anticipated that things would be a little weird. With no memories, Rick had been all but guaranteed to be a dick to him at first. Hell, Rick was a dick to him with his memories. Despite this, Morty had gotten to work with little hesitation, enlisting Summer's help and spending weeks poring through Rick's computer in search of something useful.

It had taken them thirty-six attempts to construct a device to counter the memory-jammer from Rick's blueprints that was even close to functional, at which point they'd had Beth carve him open to plug it into his brain. By version thirteen, Morty had begun to consider that they might need a back-up plan. He began experimenting with Feelob saliva, a sticky irritant that would dry invisible, but cause an unsightly reaction when exposed to water. A message on a piece of paper would be impossible to hide, but a message on his own skin that wouldn't even be visible until he showered? Perfect.

Unfortunately, it proved impossible to get legible Latin letters out of irritated flesh. The sheer quantity of saliva required always caused his whole arm to swell up to nigh-unrecognizable degrees. Even if it had worked, it would have been too obvious to anyone who looked at it that it was a system of writing. No, he needed something that looked fairly innocuous at first, like a letter system of raised bumps. Nobody would ever question skin lesions like that, hence why he'd proceeded to spend his every waking moment memorizing Braille.

With plans A and B in place, Morty and Summer had worked together to case the prison, flying through on a tourist ship (as it turned out, infamous prisons were surprisingly popular with upper-class Margonians) to snap pictures of its surface with scanners Rick had designed to record the layout of any building. They'd then had Beth (once again) surgically insert a map designed to show up on an x-ray device into Morty's back. It was flexible enough not to hinder his mobility, but it had taken a few weeks to recover enough that the surgical scars weren't suspiciously prominent.

From there, Morty had driven off into space with the intention of getting himself thrown into Zorloft. Getting into such an infamous prison while minimizing actual harm was quite difficult. Stealing a purse had just resulted in a fine and a stern reprimand. Robbing a bank had resulted in him being sentenced to a completely normal prison, so he'd skipped bail to try something else. The golden ticket turned out to be hijacking a very irritable bureaucrat's car with said bureaucrat still inside, then pulling over just so he could smash the windows with a brick, key the sides, and slash the tires before being arrested. That combined with his previously skipped bail had gotten him several years; more than enough time to grab Rick and go. Morty could still remember the confused look he'd gotten from the judge when he'd pumped his fist in response to the sentence.

Through it all, he'd never once worried that Rick would cause him any actual harm if he tried to get close to him in prison. It seemed silly in hindsight, but he'd somehow expected Rick to just _know_ that they were related in some way. Surely, Morty had thought, he would notice the familial resemblance. The fact that they would be the only humans there and have no memory of other people for reference when it came to what other members of their species looked like hadn't really occurred to him.

He wasn't surprised that Rick had turned out to be a dick. That being said, he definitely hadn't expected to be dicked, himself. His cheeks burned with utter mortification as he thought back to the way he'd moaned beneath his own grandfather, begging to be fucked harder, _faster._ How was he supposed to deal with that? There weren't exactly a lot of support groups for people who'd accidentally boned close relatives! They were like Luke and Leia, only it was even more awkward, because at least the furthest those two ever got was just a kiss.

Morty swallowed. This was going to be a _long_ trip home.

 

* * *

 

In a chaotic, unforgiving multiverse where every adventure always had the potential to be their last, Rick was the one source of stability in Morty's life; the single, unchanging constant, no matter how many universes they burned through. Sure, he wasn't a good source of stability - heck, he wasn't even an _adequate_ one, honestly - and relying on him to stay emotionally upright was about as wise as trying to make support pillars out of pipe cleaners, but he was Morty's, and for the four years that they'd been adventuring together, he had been unshakable. Nothing ever broke Rick for long. He always bounced back. This time would be no different.

Right?

Rick parked the ship in the middle of the yard, crushing an entire family of bunnies in the process. The two of them stumbled out in silence, still coated from head to toe in crusty alien blood of various colors. Fortunately, it was dark out, which would hopefully spare them yet another 911 call from the neighbors. The garage door was closed, so Morty rang the doorbell.

_Ding dong!_

It was Summer who answered.

"Hey, you made it back!" said Summer, stepping back to let them inside like they'd just returned from a trip to the grocery store. "How was prison?"

Neither Rick nor Morty chose to answer that question directly.

"I need a shower," said Morty immediately. The faster he got out of his uniform, the faster things would go back to normal.

"Uh, sure," said Summer, turning her attention to Rick with a cocky smile. "So, how'd it go? Did we manage to help, or was this another one of those things where us getting involved just slowed you down?" She gave Rick a friendly shoulder-punch. "Don't tell me you dropped the soap."

"I'm going to bed," said Rick, leaving the room without another word.

"Jesus," said Summer. "Okay."

The prison showers had been both thorough and clean, but it was a relief for Morty to be able to scrub himself clean with his own two hands. The raised bumps on his arm had already begun to fade, and in a few more days, it would be like they were never there at all. He would ask Rick to remove the blueprints in his back and the fucked-up device in his head a little later, after they'd both had the chance to come down from the post-trauma jitters. For Rick, that would most likely mean getting positively shitfaced so he didn't have to confront the problem. For Morty, it meant endless hours hugging a pillow and staring at the ceiling until he finally grew bored of going over every way in which he almost died.

As he stepped out and toweled himself dry, finally feeling a little more relaxed, he caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the mirror. It was funny how, no matter how many crazy things they went through, nothing ever seemed to change on the outside. Rick could fix anything from tiny scars to lost limbs, so the only difference between the Morty he'd been at fourteen and the one staring back at him now was that he'd grown a little taller. Puberty had hit him with all the ferocity of a kitten batting at a string.

On the inside, however, he'd changed a great deal. Rick still pruned his confidence like the world's most overzealous gardener, but for as crazy an ordeal as it had been, it just seemed so small in the grand scheme of things. Morty pressed his hands to the counter and smiled wryly. What exactly was he worried about, again? Was it really just because he'd fucked Rick? Pffffft, big deal. They hadn't had any way of knowing at the time, and at the end of the day, what harm had really been done? It was gross, but there was no lasting damage. Things would be a little awkward between them for awhile, but soon enough, they would be able to put it behind them, just like everything else.

Morty sighed contentedly as he dressed himself up in his comfy yellow pajamas, then strolled back to his room to plop himself down on his own bed, which was worlds better than a prison bunk. All in all, it had been a pretty successful adventure! He hadn't even been seriously injured this time! What was he so uncomfortable about?

_"The only person in my heart right now is you, Rick! You're the person I love most in the world."_

Morty scrunched up his face and closed his eyes. God, how embarrassing! Rick was never going to let him live this down. Well, at least if he brought it up, Morty had plenty of Rick's comments about the apparent tightness of his ass to fire back with.

_"No matter how much it turns out I actually hate you, I won't ever forget how I felt right now, in this moment."_

It hadn't been real love. Not in _that_ way. It had just been subconscious familial love manifesting itself as romantic in the absence of memory of their shared bloodline.

 _"I don't_ want _to forget."_

He hadn't known. That was why he'd felt those things. Besides, who could blame him? Rick was so confident and attractive for a man his age!

Wait…

Morty rocketed into a sitting position and shook his head, trying to convince himself that he hadn't just thought something incredibly weird. It wasn't like he was still attracted to Rick now that he knew, or anything! It was simply an indisputable fact that he had a sexy grandfather. A sexy grandfather who was very, _very_ good in bed.

Morty swallowed and stared down at his crotch.

God damn it, was he _hard?_

"Don't think about it," he told himself, falling back down on the bed. It had to be one of those weird, 'no reason at all' boners that always liked to flare up at the worst possible times. He wasn't actually attracted to Rick! Not in the slightest! They were grandfather and grandchild!

He closed his eyes and began to drift off to sleep.

_"Alright, you little slut, tell me how much you love my fucking cock!"_

His eyes fluttered back open, and he stared into the ceiling, defeated.  There was no point in trying to lie to himself. He was still head-over-heels for Rick.

 

* * *

 

Unlike many of the bizarre shenanigans they got up to, this was no longer the sort of thing that they could just sweep under the rug. They needed to talk about this, and damn it if Morty wasn't making every effort to do so, but trying to pin Rick down when he didn't want to be there was like trying to catch smoke with your hands. Honestly, Morty had to commend Zorloft for being able to hold him as long as it did. Every single time he tried to catch Rick alone, he would either latch onto somebody else or disappear entirely. He'd eat meals and sit around watching television with the rest of the family, but the second the last person whose name wasn't Morty left the room, so did he.

For two weeks, Morty bided his time in search of an opening. Soon enough, Rick would get bored with such domestic affairs. The monotony of it all would slowly drive him crazy until he finally gave in and grabbed Morty for an adventure. That was just the way he was.

Alas, Rick was as clever as he was stubborn; when he finally broke down and portaled into Morty's room with his latest crazy scheme involving some kind of sword in a stone that he'd set his sights on, it was with Summer in tow. Morty tried multiple times throughout the adventure to separate them; he'd suggested that Summer scout ahead (Rick had refused, called him a chicken, and made him do it), booked them both both a crappy room full of cockroaches and a luxurious suite an inn with the idea that Summer would want the suite (Rick had taken it, instead), and even convinced a bloodthirsty mob that Summer was a witch so they'd chase her away for a few minutes (Summer proceeded to accuse him of being a witch, and he'd almost been burned at the stake).

It was clear that he wasn't going to make any progress doing this the Morty way. In that case, he was just going to have to do this the Rick way. As they returned home from the adventure, the sword resting over Summer's shoulder, Morty pickpocketed Rick's portal gun and stowed it away in his pants.

"I think I left my phone in the garage," said Morty.

"Whatever," said Rick, closely following Summer back to the living room.

Morty power-walked back to the garage, then climbed down the central hatch to the lair down below. Where was that bunker, again? Morty hurried down the hall, knowing he had to move quickly before Rick got suspicious. Eventually, he found the door he was looking for.

 _'Indestructible Bunker/Emergency Ship,'_ read the plaque. He entered the room to find a cozy little living area designed for long-term use in the event of a planet-wide catastrophe if a ship or portal gun wasn't available. Appearances could be deceiving, however; it was full of various booby traps in the event that mutants or invading aliens somehow managed to break in. Morty grabbed the remote from the shelf that controlled them and activated the trap on the couch before popping a portal on the ceiling.

He couldn't help but smirk as an unsuspecting Rick dropped down on the sofa with a cry of shock, the drink in his hand spilling all over his lap in the process. The trap on the sofa activated immediately, locking his wrists and ankles in place and preventing him from getting away.

"I always wondered why you do that sort of shit instead of just asking me to come with you," said Morty with a smirk. Oh, how the tables had turned! "I totally get it now. This is _way_ more fun!"

Rick glowered at him. "You thieving little bitch."

"That's right. _Your_ bitch," said Morty, taking a seat across from him. There was something incredibly satisfying about the way Rick was clearly struggling to hide his fear and discomfort. "And now we're gonna talk about it."

"What the fuck is there to talk about?" demanded Rick, straining against the restraints. "We didn't know who we were or what we were doing. Just stop thinking about it."

"That's just it, Rick," said Morty. "I've tried doing it your way, and you know what? I-I _can't_ stop thinking about it!" He rubbed his knees together and stared at the floor. "We had _sex,_ Rick! _Twice!"_

"What, are you all traumatized now 'cause you took it up the ass from grandpa?" said Rick. His words were clearly intended to be mocking, but he couldn't meet Morty's eyes.

"Rick, that's not-"

"I didn't fucking know!" continued Rick defensively. "You think I _wanted_ to rape my own grandson? I mean, I'm pretty fucking sick - enough to fuck some stranger less than a fraction of my age against their will, apparently - but we're not in prison anymore, and I'm not desperate enough to touch some scrawny eighteen-year-old who only ever wears t-shirts and jeans."

"Wait, is that was this is?" said Morty. "You feel _guilty?"_

"Look, I know this might come as a surprise to you, but I do have a little bit of a conscience," muttered Rick. "I've done a lot of bad things, but I didn't- God damn it." His shoulders were trembling. "I didn't want  _this_ to be one of them. I'm _sorry."_

For a moment, Morty was in shock. Had Rick just _apologized?_ Without prompting, no less?

"Rick, that isn't- I'm not mad at you," said Morty. "Honestly, I'm not even upset. Like, I mean, I know I _should_ be, and what you did to me in there would have been pretty fucked up even if I were a complete stranger, but that's not why I brought you here."

"Then why _did_ you bring me here?" demanded Rick. "If it doesn't bother you, why can't you just _let it drop?"_

Here it was. The moment of truth. Morty took a deep breath.

"Because I meant what I said back there!" he admitted. "About-about how no matter who we turned out to be, I would still love you. I don't know if it started in prison, or if-if-if not knowing who you were just awakened some weird repressed thing that was already there, but ever since we came back, I just can't stop thinking about you."

"That shitty device in your head must have fried your brain," murmured Rick. "Let me up, and I'll get it out."

"Not yet," said Morty, standing up. "There's one thing I have to check, first."

"And what's-"

It was Morty's turn to interrupt Rick with a kiss. The taste of his lips was far stronger than it had been in prison, where the only booze on his breath had been stockpiled hooch made from moldy fruit. Morty didn't mind; the bitter parts of Rick only served to make the sweet parts all the more satisfying. Tempting as it was to wrap his hands around the back of Rick's head to press their lips together more intensely, he kept them at his sides, waiting to see what his grandfather would do.

Rick didn't pull away.

As Morty pulled their mouths apart, he couldn't help but smile at the embarrassed blush on Rick's face, like a lying child who'd just been shown footage of themselves with their hand in the cookie jar.

"You meant it, too," breathed Morty. Rick remained stubbornly silent, unable to deny the accusation, but also unwilling to give Morty the satisfaction of a 'yes.' Morty snickered. "You still wanna kidnap me until I get Stockholm Syndrome?"

"Morty," said Rick. "Let me out of this fucking chair, or so help me-"

"I don't think so," said Morty, swinging his leg over Rick's lap. It was strange to think back to how terrified he'd been of Rick in Zorloft. _Humorous,_ even. "Not so tough now, huh, Rick?"

He brushed his thumb across Rick's lips. He knew in his head that Rick was just as dangerous as he'd feared, if not more so. After all, in Zorloft, he couldn't remember the sight of an entire armada bursting into flame because Rick wanted their leader's electric fleece. However, he also couldn't remember the time Rick had helped him win the science fair just because Morty had shot him a pair of puppy dog eyes, or when he'd successfully badgered him into making him his own ship (which he'd promptly crashed trying to show off to an alien girl).

"We both know I could kick your ass in a heartbeat," said Rick.

Morty unzipped Rick's pants and pulled down his underwear. His rock-solid cock looked exactly the same as he remembered.

"We both know you wouldn't."

"You wanna bet?" said Rick.

"Maybe."

He wrapped his hand around Rick's cock, gripped it tightly, and pumped his hand slowly up and down. In the dim closet, where his own eyes were screwed shut, he hadn't gotten the opportunity to watch Rick's face as he was pleasured. It was quite a sight; his eyes glazed over, and he bit his own lip to muffle his own moans.

"Hey, Rick," Morty breathed into his ear. "Remember how you told me you didn't know how dumb my ancestors must have been to breed such concentrated stupid?"

Rick's unibrow turned downwards into a pointed V.

"Alright, that's it, you've had your fun," said Rick. "Safe house, terminate traps!"

 _"Terminating traps,"_ said the computer. The cuffs around Rick's wrists and ankles immediately unlocked.

"Oh, what? Come on!" whined Morty as Rick flipped him onto his back, pinning him to the sofa.

"If you think you can trap me with my own inventions, you really haven't been paying attention," said Rick, sliding his hands up Morty's shirt. "I'm like Batman, motherfucker. I've got plans for _everything,_ even traitorous Mortys!"

"Yeah, some-some genius you are," huffed Morty. "You just let me know that you were staying in that trap on purpose the whole time. You _did_ want to talk, and you _liked_ having me on top of you."

"What'd I tell you about shutting your stupid mouth before it gets you in trouble?" said Rick. He unbuttoned Morty's jeans and yanked them off like they were on fire, followed by his underwear. "Now where'd you put my portal gun?"

"J-jeans," stammered Morty as Rick pinched both of his nipples. "It's in my jeans!"

Rick grabbed the device, popped a portal beside them, and reached in to grab something. It closed as he pulled his hand out.

"What's that?" asked Morty through shaky moans.

"This, Morty, is genuine silicone-based lube," said Rick, squeezing a glob out over his fingers and sliding them over Morty's cheek. Morty shivered; it was cold, but slick and gooey. "Let me tell you right now, Morty, that nothing you can find in a prison even comes close to comparing to the real deal."

"Really?" said Morty. The ointment had seemed good enough to him, but what did he know?

"Just watch," said Rick.

He slid two fingers in at once, and Morty gasped; Rick really hadn't been kidding. Morty had shoved enough unpleasant things up there at his grandfather's behest even before going to prison (the giant, spiky mega-seeds being the worst by far) to be used to such intrusions, but this 'actual lube' stuff managed to all but eliminate whatever discomfort remained.

"Wow," said Morty. "That's pretty amazing, all ri-HGH!"

Rick had curled his fingers inside of him, pushing and rubbing his prostate with gusto. Once again, Morty dug his nails into Rick's back in response to the overwhelming stimulation.

"Oh, Rick!" he moaned. "Fuck!"

"That's right, moan as loud as you can," said Rick lustfully. "No one else but me can hear you scream, and the only cameras are all mine."

And scream, Morty did; he rolled his hips like it was a hot new exercise craze and clawed at the sofa beneath him like it was the only thing tethering him to the ground. He loved Rick. He loved Rick when he was scary, and he loved Rick when he was blackout drunk. He loved Rick when he was an asshole, and he loved Rick when he took the time to tell him what a good job he'd done. He loved Rick enough to risk a lifetime of imprisonment in some shitty memory-wiping facility just to get him back even if he hadn't received a single word of thanks since they made it back home.

Closer. He wanted to be _closer._

"Fuck me, Rick!" said Morty.

Rick hesitated. "You sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!" said Morty. "What are you waiting for?"

"Look, in Zorloft, we didn't know what we were doing. Once we do this, we're out of excuses."

Morty laughed. "Wow, Rick. Do you know how weird it sounds to hear you trying to be responsible?"

"It's not about being responsible," said Rick flatly. "It's about not having to listen to you bitch afterwards about how I let you make a stupid decision."

"You're gonna have to listen to me bitch either way," said Morty. He stroked Rick's cheek. "May as well be about something that was actually my idea, for once."

"Well, I'm convinced," said Rick, lining himself up. "Ready?"

Morty didn't wait for Rick to thrust himself inside; he wrapped his legs around his grandfather's bony waist, and _squeezed,_ impaling himself completely. Even as he twisted in pleasure, he still got a kick out of Rick's pink cheeks and wide eyes.

"Did you plan for _that,_ Batman?" teased Morty.

"Oh, now you're gonna get it," said Rick. He latched his lips to Morty's neck and sucked at it like a vacuum. As Morty writhed beneath him, he began to move his hips, sliding in and out of Morty body at a steady pace.

"You-You- Oh, God!" gasped Morty.

Rick was right; there were no more excuses, and there was no coming back from this. He was knowingly having sex with his own grandfather and loving every second of it. Things would never be quite the same between them, and Morty was okay with that.

"Rick!" said Morty. "Just a little harder! Mm, yeah!"

"Out or in?" panted Rick.

"Huh?"

"I'm about to cum, dumbshit!" clarified Rick. "Out or in?"

"In! In, in, _ininin!"_

He licked his lips as Rick's seed fired off inside of him.  Of all of the weird sciencey liquids that had been stored in there, this was his favorite.

Clearly perturbed by the fact that Morty had somehow managed to outlast him, Rick was surprisingly quick to pull out.  Morty frowned.  What was he-

As Rick's lips wrapped themselves around his cock, Morty had to fight back against the urge to buck his hips so hard that he smashed his nose to bits.  Every last lick and slurp had him twitching with delight.  Even the sensation of Rick's hot breath on his groin was divine.

"Rick, I'm gonna cum," he warned.  Rick responded with a thumbs-up.  Taking that as a go-ahead, Morty closed his eyes, gripped the sofa, and let go.

Rick sucked up every last droplet of seed like booze from his flask.  As Morty trembled from the aftershocks, however, he noticed that Rick hadn't appeared to swallow.  Instead, he made it a point to open his mouth to display the seed on his tongue before closing it again and gulping it down.

"There," said Rick.  "Now we're even."

"That was amazing," panted Morty.

"Eh," said Rick. "I've had better."

Morty scowled. "Asshole. Next time I'll just leave you in prison."

"Are you kidding? You know I would have gotten out either way, right?" said Rick.

"Oh yeah?" said Morty. "You wanna go back and prove it?"

"Lucky for you, I've got better things to do," said Rick.

Morty raised in eyebrow. "Like?"

"Your ass," said Rick, nibbling his ear. "Ready for round two?"

 

* * *

 

Summer poked her head into the garage.

"Hey, Morty? Grandpa Rick?" she called, waving around a sword. "Hello? Your stupid sword started trying to whisper all kinds of dark secrets to me, which I'd normally be totally cool with, but it's got a _super_ annoying voice."

She looked around to find the garage conspicuously absent. Had they already set off on another adventure? Usually Rick would at least take a few hours to get his blood alcohol levels back up before heading out again. Perhaps they were underground. Summer opened up Rick's laptop, tapped out the password ('hahayouthoughtthepasswordwouldbesomethingeasylikewubbalubbadubdubbutitwasntBEEYATCH123'), booted up the security camera viewing application, and started paging through the different feeds in search of her brother and grandfather.

"Nope," said Summer. "Nope, nope, nope, nope, no-"

_"Oh, Rick!"_

With wide eyes and rosy cheeks, Summer slammed the laptop shut.

"NOPE."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading this story all the way to the end! Once again, the breathtakingly beautiful art for this piece was all done by Ghosty, and if you like it, you should REALLY consider checking our their [SFW Tumblr](https://ghostygoo.tumblr.com/) and [NSFW Tumblr](https://ghostygoo-girl-nsfw.tumblr.com/)! If you like THAT art, be sure to give it a reblog!
> 
> Don't forget to check out the other stories posted to the Big Bang collection! A bunch of really talented authors and artists have been working incredibly hard on these projects, and it would really make their day if you took the time to leave them a comment!


End file.
